Tales of Love Lost
by aberaham tulip
Summary: Kim Possible Streetfighter crossover Ten years after she left her life behind, the shell of a heroine shall learn that her tale is not yet over.
1. Round 1: Fight

Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible or any of the Street Fighter characters. I do however own a blue boa constrictor named Rufie. She's several feet long and has a crush on Rufus. Can't really blame her, everyone loves naked molerats. And I say no to new viruses. You should too. Yay.

Summery: Ten years after she left her life behind, the shell of a heroine shall learn that her tale is not yet over. Kim Possible/ Streetfighter

Tales of Lost Love:

"When everything changes sometimes the only thing left to do is fight."

Chapter One: Fight!

"I welcome you to my home as the spider welcomes the fly. Come and listen to the tangled web I weave, for this story concerns you most of all. This tale is tragic and yet true. The embellishments are few if any. Preservation of history is a cruel task, but allowing for small errors, what I tell you may come in handy. You never know. The past is foundation for what we see. Let this cleanse your mind. For what I tell you is a tale of love lost.

There was once a time long ago, lovers who once could have been together fighting foes no other could touch. They fought long, they fought hard, but in the end she lost. I will tell you of that day.

The wind blew not at all. No rain could be seen, Nature's portents of that to come, mysteriously absent. Nothing could warn the young heroine, as she stood waiting. This was a day she dreaded. She and her faithful friend were about to part. She couldn't have that. For reasons both selfish and pure. She loved him, as no other could. His little quirks both infuriated and calmed her. The few times in her life when she'd be without him, since their meeting in pre-k, seemed empty. She'd once thought otherwise, now she knew the truth. She'd said it to him once. At the time, neither had understood the implications. She knew he was clueless, doubted if he even remembered what happened. She hadn't at first, but the nightmares changed that. She'd seen visions of a horrible future, one where they'd been separate and they'd lost. They'd changed that thanks to him. As the nightmares continued she'd remembered how she felt when he was gone, the aching, the pain. Finally she realized why it hurt.

Now she was going to do something she'd never had the courage to. She was going to tell him. She was waiting outside of their old high school. She'd wanted to tell him for so long. She'd thought graduation would be perfect, but she'd failed. Now she only had this day. It wasn't much, but she'd do it and he'd feel the same way. He had to, she couldn't tell what she'd do if he didn't. She'd lose him if he didn't and yet if she kept her silence she'd never really have him. He'd only be on loan, until he found another. Then that girl would be his love, and he'd forget. Somehow that seemed worse than any other fate she could think of. She may have been overreacting, but who could tell her? After all love makes us do the wacky.

She stood waiting and it did not go unappreciated. A car pulled in front of the school. She recognized it, but it shouldn't have been there. It belonged to another girl. Another cheerleader, one the young heroine despised. For a while she'd had every reason, but that had changed suddenly. Every drop of hatred had one day vanished from the other girl's person, replaced instead by an intense sadness. Even the heroine had noticed. Befitting one of her class, the heroine did not gloat or posture. She'd tried to help, of that no one could argue, but she'd never gotten past the other cheerleader's defenses. The boy had. And the heroine had gotten used to seeing him and the other cheerleader. In time the two girls managed to tolerate each other's presence, slowly liking each other. They still weren't friends, but they had stopped fighting, much to the young man's delight. Still, today was about her and him, so why was She there?

The young heroine watched them exit the car, the other girl stayed back, leaning on the car, but the boy came to her. They walked off, leaving the heroine's former adversary. I'm sure you can guess what came next.

They walked slowly through the old school corridors, talking about the old days, talking about everything except that which they came. Finally they left. When they exited, the other girl was no where to be seen. The two friends continued on regardless. They walked slowly through the town, coming upon their favorite restaurant. It had always been the two of them their, others may have joined them, but it was really about them. She'd told him there. She'd poured out her heart, eloquently flattering him, through the nervous pauses and terrified stops. I see your look, but if I did not at least grant her the gift of speech, I would be forsaking my duty as your guide through this torrid tale. The important thing is that day she faced her fears and she paid the price.

He tore in to her and this I cannot change. I wish to tell you he held back, but he didn't. He couldn't for there was no true way. I wish to say that he told her he did not feel the same and that another had captured his heart, but that is not all. But the conversation did not stay pleasant for long. High emotions lead to tensions, and as she looked crushed he endeavored to make her so. His generally good temper changed. A dam broke inside him. All his hate and rage from all of his eighteen years poured forth, lashing out against the young woman with him. Thankfully they'd left the restaurant, otherwise it may have caused a scene. They had just entered the parking lot, still trapped in the same silence that had gripped them since Kim had told him. She'd finally asked him to speak to her, fear tearing at her voice. It was almost as if the sound of her quivering voice had cracked his defenses, the same defenses that had so far protected everyone from the youth's anger. He was angry about being underestimated, about thinking he was nothing, that he couldn't believe in himself and that noone else believed in him. So he tore apart one of the truly few who did. His words tore like barbs into her soul, crushing her spirit. Tears bled from her eyes as years of frustration found a target. The pain he caused that day was simply because of his own fear. Funny how powerful fear is isn't it? After he had left the young heroine broken he'd left, walking to the newly arrived car of the broken girl's former enemy. The other girl saw the devastation, had heard some of the words. She craved to say something, to interrupt, but she hadn't. Now she watched as the crying heroine stood broken. The boy was in the car, but the former enemy couldn't help but stay still. Eventually his voice brought her to the car.

An hour later, at her home she'd received a call. The broken voice told her who was speaking. The crying woman only spoke once, though her face was a mask of tears and her voice cracked. The words would only be said once, before the line clicked off.

'Take care of him.'

The words had an air of finality. It didn't help that later, after the boy had left her house, the cheerleader had called the heroine back, but she was gone. After the call the cheerleader had returned to the boy. She'd seen him cry, he tried to hide it of course. He didn't ask if it was the heroine, but the cheerleader knew he wanted to know. So she simply sat and kept him company until it was time for him to go. She knew then how he'd truly felt.

You see the words the boy spoke stemmed from hatred, his hatred of himself. He'd been sure he could never be enough for her, so he'd done what he'd had to. In a sick way he was protecting her, but it is not my place to judge, and whether my conjuncture is right, the poor heroine never knew, for she was quite gone.

And now we reach the end of the factual portion of my tale, all I can tell you is the truth from the eyes of an old man, which is perhaps the strongest truth of all. For it is tempered by experience and preserved through memory. It contains knowledge hidden in the only form we can truly access it, that of the story. Let me tell you the rest now.

The heroine never went home, that much I can tell you for sure. As for the boy, he has to live with his decision, I doubt he's handling it well. Everyday it chews at him a little more, corroding more of the joy and shine that hade once graced his young form. And he is clueless to the pain of those around him, so great is his own. It robs all joy from his life and forces him to marinate in putrid sorrow. A sad fate to say the least.

But let us leave those two sad lovers and gaze upon one who's shame clings tightly to her very form. Let us talk of the other cheerleader. I do not know this girl, nor could I claim to know her circumstances, but I know this. Her pain ate her as well. Pain that was caused by another. Intrigued? You see this girl was not directly injured during the destruction of the long friendship. Her injury came afterwards. Day after day she watched a man she'd respected, even come to love, eaten by his self-doubts and pain. Every kiss seemed emptier and emptier, as the boy's facade slowly faded. As the glint died in his eyes, her soul cried. Maybe if she'd said something, it would have been different. If she'd talked to the boy, forced him to see his own worth maybe she wouldn't have to watch the life slowly ebb from him. As it was the heroine's last words haunted her. 'Take care of him,' She wasn't really doing that was she? And so the years past, ten to be exact. The former heroine wandering, the boy slowly decaying, and the sad former cheerleader paralyzed.

But don't fret after all this story may one day have a happy ending. After all, that is why you're here Ms. Rockweller. Isn't it?"

Across the cave, shielded by the darkness, the young woman spoke for the first time since entering the cave. Her voice had a new tenor than the one she'd born years ago, back when her and Kim were rivals, before their lives had changed.

"Yes."

She couldn't change the past, but she could fix everything for the sake of the future. It had taken her ten years to gather the courage, she wouldn't fail. The old man merely smiled.

-

Shattered ribs hurt. Agent Will Do, formerly of global justice, could attest to that. When he'd taken over for the vanished Kim Possible he'd never thought it would end this way. Another blow tore open his forehead. Blood streamed down his face as he tried to regain his ground. There wasn't much else he could do. His squad, ironically it consisted of agents trained specifically for the missions that Kim had once accomplished with only her two closest friends, three if you counted the naked mole rat, lay dead. He could see their bodies littering the ground. He was the last one left. Not for long though. His opponent was relentless. Once his team may have stood a chance. Time had changed that. Time had changed a lot of things. Another blow reached his body, this time it was his left arm to shatter. He could feel the fore-arm bone snap clean. He'd tried to block, that was his reward. The pain just brought back more memories of the past. He was finished, and unlike in fiction his memories weren't waiting for the exact moment of his death to replay themselves. His life had largely consisted of his career. That had started to change after he'd met Kim Possible. He, a top-notch agent, had been almost useless. He'd later determined that a part of her success that night derived from her own drive, the rest belonged to that of her friends. People like Kim always seemed to surround themselves with allies. He could understand that. For the last ten years his team had been both friends and a kind of family. Now they lay dead. He felt that pain, but he wasn't going to stop fighting. Which brought up a question. Why had Kim quit? That random chain of thought ended abruptly when another blow crashed into his skull. He struck the concrete with a crack. Most people would have puked at the sound. His assailant wasn't most people. Blood oozed all around him. His conciseness dimmed slightly. Sounds took on different qualities, textures to be exact. He'd never even noticed sounds had them before. Again his fuzzy thoughts were interrupted. This time a hand gripped his shirt, raising him slightly. All that poured from his mind and lips after that were screams of agony as a burning hand was pressed against his fragile flesh.

-

It has been said that one is the loneliest number. That is a blatant lie. There is a certain loneliness that can be achieved when there is no one around you, but it can not compare to the feelings that being cut off from the bustling crowd around you can cause. A particular girl knew. She was always alone. Even when she was surrounded by hordes of people. Most likely it was this sensation that caused her to actively avoid cities. Sometimes it couldn't be helped though. This was one of those times. She wanted to find somebody. His name was Gen. The old man was said to frequent this area of Hongkong. So she searched its streets, alone despite the bodies surrounding her. Her auburn hair was short, just long enough to give her face a feminine touch. Her body was lean, but fit. Her soft curves were lined with lean muscle, giving her the appearance of softness, with the strength born of hardness. Her clothes were functional, having no hard seems that would restrict her movement, yet they did nothing to hide her gender. A small part of her that retained who she used to be enjoyed that. The rest of her tolerated this small indulgence. After all a warrior should always remember where they came form and who they were. The present was only different if the past served as proof of the change.

She continued to walk down the street, with a sturdy walk that even the old her had not possessed. Once she'd boasted she could do anything. Now she looked it the statement could be true. The irony was that she didn't believe it anymore. Truthfully she didn't believe in anything nowadays. Most people wouldn't be able to read that from just her walk. Her body posture, the way she fought everything screamed capability, so much so that the casual observer would not bother to look further. After all most people weren't interested in the emotional workings of random individuals. The quiet desperation remained unnoticed when she walked the streets. The person waiting for her noticed it immediately. It wasn't anything new. She always looked like she'd lost faith, ever since he'd met her. He just ignored it, holding his tongue until she had reached him.

"Hey Red."

His voice was soft, filled with delicate tones that made him easy to listen to. His voice wasn't much more than a whisper. It was to be expected, he wasn't in the best shape that day. It had been a very long day, longer than most and now he had to deal with the infamous Red. Meetings with the strange girl always left him wiped, and that was on a good day.

"Where's Gen?"

Her voice had lost all trace of happiness. Though Adam couldn't be sure of that, he had nothing to compare it to. That wasn't to say that she sounded lifeless, merely un-alive. There was no real pep, or zing to the voice, yet it also lacked the dreariness of a monotone or the sullen tones of the perpetually depressed. Her voice was of one who'd had it all and left it behind. Noone knew what 'it' was, but Adam had a theory. He always did.

"He died two days ago. His body was too old to recover from his last fight."

They both knew what he really meant. Gen hadn't died in battle, but the young man standing before Red hadn't had the heart to let the old warrior die in such a mundane way. It wasn't for the young man's sake, but Gen's. The old assassin would have wanted to be remembered that way. The two standing in an alley didn't need to communicate that.

She said nothing. It was one of the reasons he hated meeting Red. It wasn't so much what she said, when she spoke, it was what she didn't say. Which would be fine with him, if her body didn't scream at him every second. He could see the quiet resignation in her muscles, hear the uncried tears in the way her right hand wavered slightly. He really was too in tune for his own good sometimes. Regardless he plowed on.

"He wanted you to preform the last rites. You were really the only choice."

The last part was for her benefit. She tried to avoid intimacy. He knew that personally.

"He's in the house behind me," he titled his head slightly, indicating a doorway to his right. "I'll wait here."

She walked by him, ignoring him as she made her way to the house. He sighed as she entered. He'd known there would be difficult days, but still he'd known Gen better than most. It was painful to realize that the only other who could truly make that claim would never dare to. She'd be too afraid. At least that's what he thought.

The old assassin lay upon a wooden table. Surrounding him was a few candles and a single photo. Adam's touches. The old man was wearing the purple robe he'd always fought in. A single tear drop fell as she watched his unmoving form. It was completely lifeless and that disturbed her. If she was being truthful she'd admit she was scared and hurt. Still, first came the acceptance of his condition. She didn't really have friends now. Nor a family. She merely had the bonds she shared with other fighters. Gen had been one of them. In a way the cranky, cankatorus old man had replaced her father in her eyes, so much so as anyone was capable of being family to her now. He'd largely left her in peace, instead focusing on speaking rarely and letting her do the same. She'd felt comfortable in his prescence. Nothing was expected of her, except that she learn when he taught her. That was rare. Only after a bout did such occasions occur, and they fought less as time passed. He'd gained confidence in her abilities and didn't need to see her refine as much. He'd let her keep the skills she'd learned from her old teacher, instead pointing out flaws in style and form that she needed to correct. He'd taught her some of his techniques as well, but she rarely relied on them in combat. Still he'd taught her a lot, while she'd stayed with him. Over the years those times accumulated into the longest she stayed in any one place.

Some images flashed through her mind, she allowed them to play. Gen was there, often in the room where they spared. It wasn't much, just a bare wooden space. Mostly she lost. Towards the end she won more and more. At one point he barely held back. The last image had him halting a deathblow right before her throat. That had been eight years ago. She allowed herself to reminse, to remember the different lessons she'd accumulated. He'd shared a lot with her. His style was that of the assassin. He fought to the death and his lessons had contained the wisdom of one who continually walked away. She knew he'd spared opponents before. Several fighters were still alive today becuase he'd had no intrest in their demise. That was something else he taught her. Control. She'd had it before, her lifestyle had required it. With him she'd honed it to a fine edge. She could control her emotions, without supressing them. She could feel the reactions and use them in ways she'd never thought possible ten years ago. To most it would sound like science fiction. To her it was merely an extension of normal social behavior. She saw others excerice the same forms of control she'd learned: pushing past pain, hiding reactions, masking intent. The only difference was that she was aware of it and how to complete these tasks. Many others relied on insticnt. She'd honed that to thanks to him.

The hours past as she slowly said goodbye. As she moved to start the ceromony something caught her eye. A small note addressed to her lay next to him on the table. She read it somberly.

New tears flowed as she finished. Some fell, staining the paper with the chineese characters. It was a letter of goodbye. She wasn't upset that he'd said it in this way. Somehow it was better the way they were doing it. They had always valued the silence of each other's company, even now that was preserved.

She went through the cermony now, helping him to pass on. The proper words were said, the proper motions made. Different scents filled the room. Slowly she felt herself abosorbed in the ritual, remembering once again the man she had come to care for, despite her past. As the ritual ended she began to say goodbye to her mentor and the closet thing to a family she'd allowed herself. She exited the small house a few minutes later, wearing the keepsake he'd left her. Adam was still waiting. Nodding silently he fell into step beside her as they walked. They contiued like that for a few blocks, until they came to a small restuarant. With a hint of a smile on his face they entered.

The restuarant was small and noisy. Careful patterns filled the walls, a deep colored carpet adorned the floor, and small lamps adorned the tables, giving the place the quiet elegant feel they had come for. She changed a little as she sat down. Her tone picked up a little life and hints of smile began to show every now and then. It was mostly an act, even if she didn't know it. The traces of a smile were real, but could only show through when she forgot her sadness, he tried to do that for her. That day they did it for each other.

He watched as she ordered her meal. Traces of life continued to come back to the girl as she did so. She'd been to this restauraunt many times. Sometimes Gen accompanied her, sometimes she was alone. And others, like that day she was with Adam. His mind was pulled away from her when the waitress looked at him. He ordered as Kim waited. After the waitress left he continued their conversation.

"How'd it go?"

The hint of smile returned, only to vanish breifly and then return again.

"Won. I guess I'm in."

"Congrajulations. How many years would this make?"

"Seven, but you knew that."

He didn't deny it. No sense really.

"Yup, just felt the need to ask."

She didn't comment on that. Like everyone else who spent enough time around the blackhaired man she'd learned to either accept or ignore his oddities. A creature of intuition he'd sometimes blurt out random statements that he felt needed to be said. Once he'd been an hour late meeting her because he'd felt the sudden need to take a different route. She never let it annoy her. She'd seen the effects of what happened when his intuition was ignored, had the scar to prove it. She listened now. Speaking again, her voice carried a tiny hint of her old playfulness.

"Too bad that you never make it."

He scoffed at that. They both knew he'd never actually tried to be invited, not like the rest. As the only student of Oro, who had retired, he recieved his master's yearly invitation. Ken Masters liked to see old oponents. After the american mogul started funding the tournaments serveral changes had been made. No longer did the tournaments take place in back alleys or shady evil lairs. Every year since Ken started arranging the World Warriors tournament, five years ago, a location was picked and fighters were invited to attend. Many attended the peliminaries, few returned to the actual tournament two months later.

"Oh I always go, I just never fight."

"Why is that again?"

He rolled his eyes slightly. The banter didn't come easily for them, but he suspected she wanted it anyway. So he tried to anwser with a witty remark. He failed miserably.

"What can I say, cute chicks kicking ass. I'm there."

She just looked at him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Eh what can I say, I'm not funny."

She nodded in agreement.

-

Half a world away a man was fighting. His fists lashed out in odd intervals, following an internal rhythm known only to him. It worked. Blows that were expected never came. Unexpected ones landed. A burly man crashed backwards against a wall. His head cracked against the brick. His assailant didn't smile, but continued nonetheless. Another fist smashed into the burly man's chest. Knee then met groin. As the knee fell back to earth another fist lashed out. Soon the burly man, blood flowing freely from his face, slumped against the wall. His attacker looked down at him.

"Tell Mack the street's not safe for his shit anymore. You got me?"

The man looked up despite his broken face. His attempt at a crooked grin would have made most cringe, so complete was the damage. The young blonde standing over him was not most. In fact he was quite unique.

"Mack's gonna get you bitch. Let's see how brave you are when he's got your balls in a can."

The blonde's foot lashed out and the man slumped to the ground uncounsious.

"We'll see."

-

They ate in peace, despite the noise all around them. He was used to bustling, she was used to looking for quiet where none existed. Their friendship was an odd one. Neither really talked much about themselves, or their pasts. When they did talk it was always non-comital statements, each perfering the enjoyment found simply in accepting silence. For her it was like being with Gen, only she could talk, when she needed to. For him it was simply about being near someone whose training would allow them to accept him. He was an oddity among the fighters, few could understand. She could. Ten years had seen the two of them spend time together in a way unkown to most fighters. Casual dining and simple chit chat. That made Adam's next words even harder.

"Kim, there's something I need to ask."

She froze slightly, she'd never told him her real name. The loud conversation buzzed around them, masking all of their words. It was why he chose now to have this conversation. He was sure they were safe, among the crowd. Still she went on the defensive, he'd kinda expected that.

"It's alright, I've known for a while. Up to now your past has been just that, your past. But I think we're friends. And I think ten years gives me the..."

"Enough." Her eyes shone slightly, enough to make most cringe. The man sitting across from her had seen her fight. He didn't just cringe, he shrunk. "How?"

Whereas his tone had been fast and anxoius before it slowed down now.

"You've never asked me about my past. Is it so hard to assume I'd seen you before?"

Her eyes narrowed more.

"Who are you? Really." Venom laced every syllable.

"I'm not from that aspect of your life. When I was training with Oro a man visited. He told us of a student of his, said she was about my age. He challanged Oro, it was quite an entertaining match. In the end he lost, but he walked away. Even as he challenged Oro, I watched. I was to reconigize the man's fighting style. It was the same as yours. That's all I know about you. Your name, how you fight, and your legend. Though I'm a little iffy on the details."

Her voice softened a little.

"How."

"I visted the man every now and then," a smile returned to his face, it was soft and lite but there. "Once he told me a story of Love Lost."

Her face fell at that. He continued.

"I don't know how he knew, I don't know if he told me the truth. It seemed like he left much out, it stuck in my mind because it was so unlike one of his stories. It seemed more like an anecdote from a life. There were none of his usual embleshments or details. He just told me that he'd once known a girl who'd loved too much. He hoped she found what she once lost."

He fell silent as he finished. Her eyes met his again. The anger had disapted a little.

"When?"

"I figured it out about a month after I met the old man, for the last time."

"Last time?"

"I haven't had the chance to get back to him. But that's what I wanted to tell you. The original man who trained you is alive and kinda well. I mean he lives in a cave, by himself."

Her eyes lowered slightly.

"Oh. Sorry," when her eyes raised the anger was replaced with a softness he'd never seen. "How was he?"

"Alive, well, strong. He gave me quite a work out."

She looked at him, mirth playing across her features.

"You fought?"

"Just a sparring match, he wouldn't take no for an anwser. It was for first blood."

"Who won?"

"That's a secret I'll take to my grave."

Her eyes opened slightly at that.

"Now way."

He sipped the drink in front of him, the bubbles tickling his tounge. Her expresion slowly returned to normal.

"Could you take me to him, after the tournament?"

"It would be a pleasure." He took another sip. "So by the way, you got a last name to go with the one I know?"

The smile adorning her face was nothing short of wicked.

"That's a secret I'll take to my grave."

His sigh was theatrical. They laughed as they continued to eat the food placed in front of them. By the time they finished they were both more relaxed in each other's presence than ever before. Taking a risk Kim asked a question of her own.

"How did Oro find you."

It was his time to stare, then a small playback of his own words occured inside his mind.

"Right I said his name," he anwsered his own unspoken question. "I'd prefer not to, but I guess fair is fair.

"In a sense I lived a normal childhood. Until the age of twelve I was as decadent as any other american boy. I watched t.v., lusted after women, all that fun stuff. The main difference was that my mom was a little freaky. I wasn't supposed to go out unsuprivesed. I had to sit in at recess too. Ever since I can remember I was supposed to basically just sit and let life pass me by. At first it was simple. I didn't really have much to compare my life to. Then school started. As did the meditating. I had to meditate every day, she'd been clear on that. My dad enforced it too. Clear the mind, look at nothing for a half hour. That changed over time. I was supposed to clear my mind for more and more time. I never really took it seriously. After all I was like everyone else, it was just my parents that were nuts. They were right. My focus slipped and I lost a lot. Oro found me, in the wreckage of what was once my home. I left with him. That's about it. "

"There's more isn't there?" Her tone was soft, consoling. He appreacheated that.

"Yes, there is. But this is neither the time nor place. Otherwise I'd ask you a few questions."

"It would only be fair," she paraphrased him.

"Are you sure?"

"Shoot."

He could see the apprehension on her face as he prepared to speak. She shouldn't have worried he wasn't asking this time.

"Whatever happened to you, was painful. I can understand. But it's been ten years. I think it's time you opened up a little."

The words were whispered, barely heard over the noisy din. Now she knew why he shared at all. He wanted her to know, he knew pain too. She didn't lash out at him, she was beyond that point now. Sadness filled her as she whispered back.

"Have you?"

A thin smile, born more of pain than joy spread over his face.

"Yeah. I've started to."

At her raised eyebrow he continued.

"You remember Sakura?"

"Of course, she's a friend," at his skeptical look she added, "Well so much as we've got friends these days. I mean we've been friends for ten years and this is the first time we've ever talked like this."

She had a point, but he wasn't going to let her berate herself over something like that.

"Well you've gotta remember. It's not like it's been a consecutive ten years. We spend a lot of time alone on the road. It's the life we chose true, but we can change that. The rest of the gang will be meeting at Makato's before the competition. You could drop by this time."

"I don't want to intrude."

"Are you kidding? Intrude? Kim, you've been invited. When Sakura found out I was going to meet you she was quite adament about inviting you. Truthfully I didn't know phones could transmite such high pitched squeals."

A genuine smile touched her lips. This was new and yet old. She'd thought she'd never experiance this again, but she was happy to be wrong. She felt accepted. For the past ten years only Gen and Adam had done this, now it turned out the others wanted her there. At her expression he stopped waiting for a reprimand for his bad joke.

"You know the relationship you've got with them is pretty normal for fighters. For the most part, our kind just meet, fight, joke, and part ways. It can be a lonely life Kim, if you let it. Come, I know they're looking forward to seeing you."

At her thankful nod he rose.

"Come on, let's celebrate this new brakethrough with a night out."

She smiled and followed him out as the sun slowly set outside.

-

Dawn cracked over the town of Middleton. In its streets one could often see hope. In some senses it was a magical place. Many dreams were born here, some even came to fruition. But that could be said of many towns. To its credit it also bore two children of remark. There were others of course, but it is these two that have lead to the figure standing, watching an old ranch house. The house was deserted, like it had been for several years, ever since the family had relocated. The house was in itself a testimonial to the former occupants. Many thought the town's favorite daughter had died. The one standing outside of her house knew better. A body was never found and that was enough proof for the figure waiting for dawn to crack. The time of waiting was ending. She was almost through. Now was the time for the end game to begin. Technically a sunset should be playing across the sky, if for nothing but to symbolize the ending of the game. Instead the sun rose, fiery rays peaking across the sky. Slowly the darkness cracked and faded letting the warm rays kill the sky. All this was lost on the person standing in front of the house where ten years ago a hero resided. It's funny how cosmological signs go right over people's heads.

-

Bars are generaly not places where one finds true fighters. For most fighters the concept of destroying their reaction times so completely is abhorrent. They are always ready, prepared to fight back. This is not to say they do not indulge in the pervasive drug that is alcohol. Rather, they drink alone, or perhaps with another warrior, one they trust. Hollywood would have us believe otherwise. Adam and Kim didn't conform to Hollywood's ideals that night. She had a coke, he chose a club soda. The bartender, an attractive Chinese girl, didn't argue. She'd learned long ago not to question strange drinking practices. The last person who had merely ordered soda had been a handsome man wearing a white shirt, baseball cap, and an odd pair of pants she hadn't recognized. He'd saved her when a drunken brawl broke out. One of the men had come after her, he'd reacted faster than she thought possible. That was a little more than a week ago and she still remembered. She poured the drinks without question and smiled politely as Adam took the drinks from her. The two patrons payed and then resumed talking. Kim spoke first.

"So what's this about Sakura?"

He groaned in the classic style of the tortured male. Now he wished he'd never spoken to her in the restaurant. He was in for it, what it was he wasn't sure, but dna memory screamed he wasn't going to like it. The medium sized man ran a hand through his short, messy black hair.

"We're dating."

The girl's grin grew more devious. The prospect of gossip bringing back the simple joys of old. Talking, chatting, acting normal. It was something her friend could appreciate, so he played along, despite the urging of his genetic memory. She listened to hers though and slipped into a sugary voice, unbefitting the warrior she was.

"How long?"

He didn't know where the conversation was heading, but her voice told him the light at the end of the tunnel would most definitely be a train. Since he had missed the horror that is the friend of the girlfriend before this point in time, having spent most of his years in training, he had no real reason to fear. How was he supposed to know that he'd be arming Kim for late night chats once they reached Makoto's?

"About a year. Perhaps more. I think we formalized it when I visited after World Warriors last year."

The smile adorning Kim's face was nothing short of predatory.

"You visit?"

"It's not like I have much else to do. I meditate, wander, and see people along the way."

Dark liquid passed her lips and he didn't need to read minds to know what she was thinking.

"I'm not full of shit alright."

Her cup resting on the bar, she turned to look at him.

"I never said that, but I've got to know. Do you actually fight?"

There wasn't much to say or wonder about. It was a logical question, one she'd have to ask sooner or later. He was glad she waited this long. Didn't mean he was ready to answer though. The warm bubbles pressed against his lips as he held the cup up, never actually sipping. He was enraptured with the softly bubbling soda, or so it seemed. Kim placed a hand on his shoulder,

"Its alright. We can take the sharing slower, you can answer later."

He drained the last of the club soda, standing after the clear liquid was gone. She followed suite. They walked out silently. As they left the bar, he saw a hand dart out of the darkness. He let it land on Kim's shoulder. His eyes glanced into the darkness, looking for the shape of the man through well honed periphial vision. When his eyes turned up nothing he resorted to other means. His mind opened and he let a little control slip, drawing energy into himself. There was another man waiting at the next alleyway. A third was to his left, hiding behind some boxes. While he noted his surroundings Kim reacted.

She registered the hand, but didn't attack right away. She waited for the sound of a voice.

"Hey hot stuff, don't you know this road's closed? You're gonna have to pay a fine," his eyes traveled down her well formed back, alighting on her ass. His free hand went to cup it, her foot shot back, crashing into his shin. Heel met brittle bone and snapped it. Her right elbow shot back, taking advantage of the man's pain to strike. His nose broke in an explosion of blood. He went down and Adam lashed out.

Dark waves spread from his fingers, crashing into the boxes shielding one of the men. They shattered, splinters flying out. Adam focused more, crushing the same splinters time and time again, reducing them to harmless specks of dust. His mind ached, the control needed causing him pain. He could feel the energy rushing through him, trying to escape. He held it back, using only what was needed to smash the gun from the man's hands. The energy met the flesh curled around the steel handle of the gun first. Fingers broke and shattered under the blast. Next the metal warped, pressing first backwards then cracking under the intense pressure. With the gun's casing cracked and the weapon's barrel warped the blast ceased, Adam's head swimming from the control needed.

He felt the shot being fired. The power still coursed through his muscles, imbuing them with strength. The leftover energy needed someplace to go. His self-preservation instincts provided the perfect outlet, saving his life. One of his hands shot sideways knocking Kim to safety, then his legs moved. The first shot hit in-between where the two friends had been standing. The second rocketed through the night sky missing his leaping form by inches. The third shot was closer, but his enhanced limbs pulled him to safety, milliseconds before the bullet struck. The fourth shot never came. Kim's foot crashed into the shooter's face, knocking him down. Her foot descended, crushing the bones of his trigger hand. He screamed and she kicked the gun away. He lashed out, her foot found his head, sending him unconscious to the pavement. An alert screamed in Adam's mind and he felt a shot being fired. It wasn't at him. He let the power flow through him again, this time drawing more from both himself and those around him. He could feel the bullet travel through the air, its movements slowing to a speed he could see. The entire world felt like molasses. The energy flowed through him with more force, reshaping the bullet. Its essence resisted, but soon the slow moving object changed, becoming liquid.

Kim felt something wet splash against her. It was a dull grey color. She didn't understand, she'd heard a gun being fired. But her confusion was nothing against the man who'd fired the shot. He knew he'd hit her, he'd seen the impact on her body. Her right side had been pulled back. So why wasn't she bleeding? Fear can be a powerful force, the would be rapist learned that as it clouded his mind. The still loaded gun was forgotten even as the girl rushed towards him. Her foot lashed out, followed by a battery of punches and knife hands. Bleeding the man collapsed in a heap. The final assailant down, Kim turned to look at her friend. He was curled in on himself. Both his knees and skull rested on the concrete. He was wheezing softly while shaking violently. It had taken a lot to keep the energy in check, more than he'd had readily available. Still shaking he found himself helped to his feet by Kim.

Looking into the redhead's eyes he found a mixture of worry and curiosity. Her voice wasn't unsure, but didn't sound certain by any means, even his addled mind could tell.

"I'll take that as a yes."

By comparison his voice was even more shaky than he would have thought possible. It quivered and quaked.

"Per-haps we, should; find a place to stay."

Silently Kim led him back to Gen's old home, keeping alert for anymore confrontations. Once inside she brought him in to the area where Gen had once slept, ignoring the preserved body of her mentor lying on the table outside of the bedroom. After letting Adam fall asleep on the matted floor, a thin sleeping bag the only softness between him and the mats, Kim also curled up and drifted off.

-

Sunlight woke up both friends the next day. Pain pounded through Adam's head. Most people would have told him he had a hangover. Truthfully it felt that way. Or it would have if he'd ever actually been drunk. Losing control was a luxury that he didn't have. She'd experienced them before and while he was paying homage to a small wooden bucket she told him so.

"You didn't have anything to drink last night did you?"

Small bits of vomit clung to his mouth, he had to spit to free himself.

"Just the club soda. You'd know if I'd had alcohol."

Despite herself she had to ask.

"How?"

Finally feeling the urge to retch pass, he pulled his head from above the wooden bucket.

"We'd both be dead."

Most people don't enjoy hearing their life could have been ended easily. Kim was no different. Her eyebrow raised slightly. A look of disbelief and challenge crossed her pretty face. He didn't rise to it. A towel instead filled his attention as he cleaned his face.

"Give me ten minutes, and I'll be ready to go."

She nodded slightly, leaving him alone. Quietly she made her way to the training room Gen had once used. It was nothing more than a bare wooden room, but that didn't stop her. First she went through the katas, forms, that Gen had taught her. That alone took twenty minutes, she didn't notice. Next came the forms she'd learned before that. It had been around twenty years ago, but she practiced them still. They formed the basis of her fighting repertoire. These took her longer. About an hour passed as she went through both the immobile and moving aspects of the forms. After her final flip she heard the sound of clapping.

"You done?"

She wasn't really. She'd been taking it slow, just warming up in essence. Most days she spent a few hours going through the different stances and keeping herself in top form. It slowed down her progress, but she found it was worth it.

"No where near."

"Anything I can do to speed it up?"

The glint that shone in her eyes was nothing short of evil. A plan quickly formed in her head. She'd had a taste of what he could do last night, but his comment earlier had annoyed her. Okay he obviously was strong, but that didn't mean he was unstoppable. She pained a little as the last thought spread through her mind. The final word was too close to the name of a former friend. Shrugging that thought aside she instead focused on the issue at hand.

"Well, I could skip the rest if you'd give me a workout."

"Uh, Kim. I hate to burst your bubble, but I've got a girlfriend. I told you last night, remember?"

She rolled her eyes, not sure if he was playing dumb or just naturally that way.

"Come on, I want to spar. Last night was amazing. The way you dodged you can obviously fight, so why not?" The last sentence came out in a nervous spurt. He had to take a few seconds to process it. His reaction wasn't surprising after he did though.

"When you're finished let me know. I'll go reschedule the flight."

That caught her attention.

"Flight?"

"To japan. I assumed you'd want to come to Makato's. If we fly and then walk we should make it in three days. That'd give us three weeks with everyone, plenty of time to relax and get ready for the tournament."

He made to go, but her voice called him back.

"It'd be faster if you just spared with me."

"Not gonna happen."

Then she darted in front of him. Her face slipped into a mask that she hadn't worn in years, ten to be exact. It was the very figure of sadness. In most it invoked a feeling of desperate pity. In Adam it invoked first one of mirth, then as the gaze never wavered an overwhelming sense of uneasiness washed over him.

"Cut it out. What is that thing?"

The gaze never wavered. He began to squirm.

"Pwetty please?"

He ducked away, slipping by her with a rapidity that surprised her. It shouldn't have, but she was used to thinking of him as incapable. A small inner voice chanted at her, reminding her that she'd once thought of someone else like that. Yet he'd proven quite capable of inflicting pain, her current life was proof of that.

"Kim, when I'm done I'll be waiting for you outside."

He walked out the door, leaving her to her training.


	2. Round 2:Travel

Disclaimer. Kim Possible and related characters are owned by the disney corporation. Street fighter chracters are owned by capcom. It's possible characters not in these catagories belong to me, it's also possible they don't. Don't sue. Pwetty pwease? (gives puppy dog pout) Oh and feed back please. It's always nice to find out what people think.

Tales of Love Lost:

Chapter 2: Travel

There are many different realities. The notion of there being a set of rules that govern all of them is simply ludicrous. It is a notion fostered by scientists and other arrogant men. To call it wrong would be an understatement. There are realities where the laws of physics don't apply. There are others where what we call physics governs every action. The world our two friends inhabited was an interesting one. Much like our own, physics existed. Unlike our own, its law was not absolute. A higher force existed, capable of defying that which we call logic, twisting it and manipulating it into a tool, rather than the roadblock it is to us. The locals of this realm knew it as chi, another word for life force. In this place it could be manipulated, harnessed and used. It allowed humans to surpass their normal limits, to become faster and stronger. It made the impossible possible, allowing men to dodge bullets, to fire blasts of focused energy. It existed in everything, in varying amounts. Some things possessed very little, others large quantities. Either way it always recharged. This is how humans live here. They expend varying amounts of this energy and then they recover it slowly. The amount is dependent on the kind of action made. The time spent regenerating, varies depending on several different factors. Food, meditation, training, and natural factors all play a role. There are ways to expand the amount chi one's body can store. This is essential for those who actively mold their chi and in doing so expend great amounts. For those that rely upon the active use of their chi regularly, it is the only way for them to survive. After one's chi is depleted one dies. But most fighters didn't worry about that. Most didn't need to. Most people would faint long before they reached that point. Few could stand to force their bodies to expand that last erg of energy, but it could be done. At this time there existed more capable of this than for many centuries.

One of these fighters stood alone on a hill. Energy flowed around him, swirling a little, but nothing out of the ordinary. Energy always moved around those living souls in its path. There are not many who are capable of sensing these fluctuations. The fighter standing on the hill was one. The woman he was waiting for was another.

Rose appeared shortly afterwards. She shimmered softly into existence, barely disturbing the energy flowing around Ryu. The tall, black haired woman had not changed at all. It was almost as if the years had ignored her, leaving her delicate looks alone. His voice was deep, confident, befitting the stereotype of the warrior he was. Unlike that stereotype his voice was not hard or bitter, but instead possessed a tone that could only be attributed to a form of inner peace the man had achieved.

"Why are we here?"

She didn't make the obligatory joke for the situation. This alone proved she wasn't exactly a normal person. Considering the gravity of the situation, and the propensity of most humans to crack bad jokes when their fear is overwhelming, her reaction was completely off kilter. It could be possible to assume many things about the woman from her rather direct approach. Some of them would be right, some wrong.

"The time is coming. Are you ready?"

With that she faded, leaving the Japanese warrior to his own devices. Had he been anyone else he'd have been annoyed. She'd dragged him all the way to the hill for no real reason. It was alright with him though, just another thing in his life.

He stayed, staring out over the cliff. The waves were beautiful. He watched as they rolled along far below him. Soon a delicate hand rested on his shoulder.

"Did you wait long?"

The voice was soft and smooth, speaking of relaxation. And this woman had reason to be relaxed. She'd fallen asleep in the arms of the man she loved, sated in every way possible. Granted this morning she'd awoken to an empty bed and a quickly scrawled not telling her to meet him out here, but that wasn't too surprising. She'd gotten used to his sudden disappearances. It had to be expected of the man who'd been considered to be the best martial artist in the world for over twelve years now. He'd earned that title with his defeat of Sagat, the muytai emperor and kept it with his continual successes. Thanks to him Bison had been defeated and shadowlaw had fallen. In addition he'd overcome the unstoppable Akuma and conquered his own dark impulses. That had been when she'd first met him. The Interpol agent relaxed into lovers arms as they circled around her. Leaning back she snuggled against his strong chest.

"Didn't wait at all."

His answer was truthful, he'd become mesmerized by the waves as soon as Rose had left.

"What did she want?"

"She was just her old cryptic self."

Chun-Li scoffed at that. She didn't hold a high opinion of the mystic and had no issues with letting that be known. She knew Ryu trusted the woman though, she wasn't exactly sure, but it had something to do with the events of the first time they'd met. He claimed the woman gave him the chance to overcome the dark hado. Chun-li thought it was more a factor of his own inner strength. Either way she decided to not pursue the topic. Instead she just leaned back enjoying the early morning skyline with the man she loved.

-

When Kim finished her warm ups the two friends headed towards the airport. Their travel was without delay and they arrived at their gate with plenty of time to spare. Quietly they sat, waiting for the flight that would take them within a few days' walk of their destination. Despite all fears and beliefs to the contrary the flight was without commotion. This didn't relax Kim. Adam on the other hand thought nothing of it.

Some people are naturally paranoid. Sometimes they have good reason to be. A life of fighting, of watching over your shoulder, of checking every shadow to make sure it is not you caught off guard, would be considered, by most, to be a sign of paranoia. Even now Kim checked the shadows. She'd say she wasn't paranoid, merely experienced. Few trips were as smooth as this one. The two friends had breezed through security. Both their duffle bags had zipped through customs, neither having much besides clothing in there. The few personal hygiene items she had barely caused any concern. His single blade razor should have been an issue, but the security guard just looked the other way. That would have concerned Kim, if she'd have known. Truthfully there were several items in each bag that should have caused them trouble. No guard commented though. Sometimes people get lucky. More often circumstances conspire in unforseen ways to permit odd happenings. Kim just attributed the lack of hassle over her own less then legal items, to the fact that the employees were underpaid and understaffed. Still, that only made her more nervous.

-

Quiet a few miles away from where Kim and Adam's plane touched down there sat a building. Though technically not a house it served as a home for a woman. Her name was Makato, and she was a fighter. More importantly she was the daughter of the retired sensi of the dogo. Now, she was also the dogo's sensi. Her father had passed the title, and its responsibilities down to her an hour ago. She didn't feel any different. When she was little, training under her father, a small part of her had simply assumed that with the position of sensi came universal enlightenment. For some odd reason that and a genuine fear of bruessel sprouts had stayed with her through the years.

She was now learning that she'd been a dumb little kid. There was no universal insight that spilled into her mind when she accepted the title from her father. In fact she hadn't felt even the tinniest bit wiser, a fact she was still a little bitter about. She still feared brussel sprouts though.

Currently she was absorbed in her training. So absorbed that she didn't notice the knocking on the wooden door of the wooden dojo. The knocking continued for a good ten minutes before Makoto even noticed, signifying two things. One, Makoto really gets into her sweeping and two, that the person at the door has both too much energy and too much free time on their hands. When she finally opened the door a burst of pure enthusiasm given flesh slammed into her. Her eyes took in the vision that was her friend Sakura, and she smiled.

"OOOHMakotoIt'ssogoodtoseeyouHowhaveyoubeen?"

Makoto tried to process her hyper friend's words, but failed miserbaly. She'd known the perpetually perky Japanese girl ever since they had fought in what was Makoto's first world warriors tournament. The petite raven-haired warrior had gone to prove the value of her father's fighting techniques and hopefully gain some new pupils. What she'd found was all that and more. She had friends that accepted her, despite her rather controversial aspects, and the dojo was doing well. But more importantly she'd found something she enjoyed and those she could share it with. Not to mention she had a major crush. Because of the life she lead, this was news for Makoto. Generally speaking she never really met anyone who was the right type, or gender, for her. In all honesty, discounting her four friends she knew no one else her age really. Granted, that was not including Sakura's rival, Karen, but Makoto tried to avoid the blond drama queen at all costs, so she didn't really count. This kind of fuzzy logic worked quite well for Makoto when she felt the annoying need to justify her trepidation concerning her redheaded crush. It was a tender issue for her. Unfortunately for Makoto, discretion was a word that, despite the efforts of both her friends and mentor, Sakura remained blissfully unaware of. So was tact.

"Didyatalktoheryet. Didja?"

Despite the rib crushing hug she was in Makoto couldn't help but enjoy the enthusiasm of the other girl. Granted both Adam and Sean would argue with the word she'd chosen. One would have made a poor joke concerning slang terminology for sex, the other would have just blatantly teased her. Sakura remained blissfully unaware of both of her friend's needs: oxygen and something a little less pure.

After a final high-pitched squeal Makoto found the pressure on her sides fade and then vanish. She was free. Well, from the grip at least. Sakura's endless barrage of high-pitched, supersonic questions still found her though.

-

Adam kept humming. He looked pretty tranquil. Their plane had landed not long ago. Somehow he'd managed to get them a ride with a church choir from America. She'd been afraid they'd recognize her, but so far everything had gone well. Then the group decided to practice. For the last hour it had been nonstop Christian gospel songs. She had never been religious. Her family rarely attended church. She could believe this was her punishment. The voices were amazing, but there was only so many times she could bear to hear that Jesus had sacrificed himself for her sins. It seemed this particular group was part of a Christian rock concert, so the songs were a mix of the bitterly sad and the uproariously happy. Right now they were being quite depressing and it was causing her to think. Right now they were preaching redemption. Was such a thing possible for her? She'd run away. Granted it'd been ten years since she'd left and she'd thought she'd come to terms with it. She'd been wrong. It had been so long since she'd heard her actual name she'd almost been able to convince herself that Red was real. She wasn't though. She would never truly be Red, not so long as the name Kim caused her to tense, to fear discovery. Her old life had been too much a part of her. Would she ever truly leave it behind? Was it even the right thing to do?

She'd asked herself that a lot at first. Back then she would have believed anything, even the little nagging voice telling her she'd fail again and that time someone would die. She'd been so shaken after what had happened. Still, what would have happened if she'd stayed, if she'd never stumbled upon that fight, never saw that man murdered? Would she be happier saving the world or is this who she truly was?

Ten years had passed and still that single day had been the worst of her life. She'd lost the man she'd loved, his hate for her so venomous it ate at her even after he'd left. She'd fled her pain. She'd failed to save someone, he'd died. She'd been to far to do anything. She'd seen the glee in his killer's face, that man would never walk again. It was that day the old her had died and the beginnings of Red had been born, or at least she believed that. She had to. She couldn't still be that lonely, confused, and scared little girl. It had been ten years. But why then was she sitting on a bus with a church choir and the closest thing she'd had to a friend in ten years, who despite his protests to the contrary, she knew nothing about. He wasn't supposed to know anything about her either. Still she'd gotten to know his personality, and it didn't really surprise her that, if he had indeed, found her original trainer he'd want her to know. That was him, he was kind to a fault, often stopping to help people, giving out the last scrap of food he had if necessary. He was definitely an oddity.

He lived the life of a fighter, yet she'd never seen him fight. Every year he was invited to the world warrior's tournament, supposedly under the same invitation that was given to his retired master, and he always went. He just never fought. He wandered everywhere and she had to think he trained, it was the only thing to do when you were alone on the road. It kept you sane. Still he didn't fight, but he could. She'd seen evidence of that last night. She'd never seen him move, yet the boxes shattered again and again. She'd seen chi based attacks, Gen had trained her to spot the fluctuating energy currents. The odd thing was that the telltale disturbance in the natural fields of energy were non-existent around her friend. He had effortlessly summoned and channeled the power, otherwise she would have sensed the buildup of energy around him. It had been so smooth and quick it had escaped her notice. Yet, he had more or less collapsed afterwards. Still it was more than she could do. Like Gen, she'd never managed to produce a projectile formed from her life force.

She continued on these roads of thought, thinking of everything and yet avoiding the one issue that had started her down this road. By the time her thoughts turned to the people they where going to meet the choir's tunes had turned happy, energetic even. They were now praising more than preaching, it was a nice change of pace, but it didn't help when Kim finally reached one of the things that had been bothering her. Makoto.

The Japanese girl, no, woman, was something of an interesting conundrum. She'd bring it up but Adam was too busy enjoying himself. While he was snapping and following along she was trapped in thoughts that most likely would have her sent to hell. Makoto was a woman, a woman that definitely set off an interesting effect in her. Bits of her old self would leak out. The few times she'd even come close to blushing in the last ten years had all been around her. Kim had even caught herself using old phrases, or their Japanese equivalent. She'd been fluent in a few languages before, but years of usage had gained her fluency in most eastern languages. She spoke with little or no accent, depending on which language and dialect she used. A few times, around Makoto, she'd find herself lapsing into a slight babble of mixed words. Bits of English would be aligned with bits of Japanese, or some other language, creating an odd, yet chaotic effect.

In fact, all of Kim's behavior added up to one quite obvious conclusion. She had a crush on Makoto, though that fact in and of its self was bad. It wasn't that being a lesbian, or bisexual in her case, really held much terror for her. She didn't really have and friends or family to worry about. The few people she normally saw wouldn't care. No matter her sexual preference she could fight. That was all that mattered to these men and women. She could sleep with everyone she met and they wouldn't even blink an eye. She could be a total prude. She could be talkative or quiet, friendly or hostile. It didn't really matter. That was all semantics. These people, her people, were simplistic. Conversations boiled down to pre-fight jibes. Every now and then there were exceptions of course, but the lonely life of the fighter was in itself a protective one. As long as she was unconnected she was immune to harm, of the emotional kind.

Her budding relationship with Makoto was the end of the protection she'd enjoyed. She'd been blissfully numb for years, but the casual flirting was eroding every barrier she had. A simple wink here, an eyelash there. The small singles were quickly eroding Kim's resolve. Even small, innocuous compliments took on new meanings when little physical gestures were added. Brief touches, seconds of flesh on flesh, as a hand was offered after a match combined with the blinding warmth of a smile and a small gesture of good will crippled her resolve. Caving had almost seemed like a good idea. How could anything that felt so good, so right, be wrong? Easily. Bitter wounds, crusted over but never healed, still ate at her, ten years providing no real cure. Time had only been a salve that had eased the pain, never truly healing the gaping wound in her. So it would be bad to take Makoto in her arms, to delicately place feminine lips upon feminine lips. Feeling the other girl gasping beneath her would be bad, a sitch she could never allow. Remaining alone, blissfully free of the pain she'd once felt would be good. Granted she had relationships. Not sexual ones, she'd never done anything with Adam or Gen. What she had with the two men were still relationships though. The difference, the vital, important, all separating difference, was that those relationships were based around mutual acceptance of past secrets and present boredom and confusion, respectively. None of the three really knew what to do next. That uncertainty had allowed them to talk, but never really to come closer. An outside observer would say she'd wasted ten years of her life, but she wouldn't be able to agree. That would mean she'd have to go back. She was someone else now. She was Red and Red didn't need friends, not really. Casual, chance based friendships were more than enough for her.

She'd been surviving, but of course that wasn't good enough for some people. Adam was one of them. He was playing at getting to know you. That was a sitch she'd best avoid. There were things best left alone. She'd begun to open up, the shock of his revelation and the turmoil of her own thoughts had drawn her into a dream world. In reality she should have just walked away. She should never have bought into the fantasy of Adam's words. She didn't know the people she was going to see. That was good, that was best.

There were eyes on her then, but she was too absorbed with her personal version of a panic attack to notice. The eyes were using a badly reflected image in a window to view her. The young man the eyes belonged to didn't sigh, though he wanted to. He was enjoying the music, but not as much as he made it seem. Often it was best to appear completely absorbed in what was happening around him. He liked the quiet, the peace. Still he wasn't happy with it this time. He'd hoped that Kim was as sure of all of this as she'd sounded the night before. It sure as hell didn't feel that way. As the bus rattled on she became more and more withdrawn. Her muscles tensed the way they did before fights, her entire body sending subtle signals that there was something wrong and someone else was going to pay. He was close to screaming. She was just such a fucking puzzle. She'd been almost giddy the previous night. New facets of her personality were beginning to peak through. That lasted all of about five hours.

He wasn't being fair and he knew it. He'd never really seen her sulk before. She interacted with other fighters fine, just a tad quiet at times, but just verging on broody really. He'd never seen her cross the threshold, until that very day. Well soon he wouldn't be able to hide, well actually he probably would. Still they were almost there. After they'd gotten on the bus he'd managed to talk the leader to dropping them off right on the outskirts of the town where Makoto's dojo was located. After that it was only a short hike to the hill that housed the glade where the dojo rested. It had been a very short trip. He'd honestly expected it to take longer, but then again he didn't usually make a habit of accepting the aid they'd received thus far. It annoyed him to, but he really wanted to see Sakura, it'd been almost a month since they had last spoken. He'd stayed by Gen's bedside. That hadn't been fun. Well at least the old man hadn't dug too deeply, though he'd gotten too far for Adam's comfort.

And then thankfully the bus arrived. If it hadn't he may have just died of tedium. Even with the music the ride had been more than a tad boring. He'd forced himself to stay awake, both for civility and security. So he was quite bored.

Neither he nor Kim spoke as they ascended the hill. In theory this may have continued had they not noticed the billowing black smoke. Their eyes had kept steadily on their feet until they had reached the hill itself. Then their gazes had risen to see the tranquil glade. They were sadly disappointed.

Debris clung to the ground, small pieces of what was once a house lay embedded in the once pristine field. Smoke billowed from the remaining aspects of the structure. Hungry flames rose in a mockery of the wooden corpse it devoured. Seconds should have passed unnoticed, time should have ground to a halt. The two travelers should have been given a chance to wonder, perhaps to begin mourning. They would have taken the opportunity if not for the sadistic chuckle reaching their ears.

"Have you also come to play? The more the merrier."

In movies there is always an appropriate melody for any situation. Such a situation as Kim and Adam found themselves in would often be paired with a slightly haunting melody, one that carried the full tragedy of the situation their eyes had found, but carried the tones of hope. There would be hope because they were the heroes. They would win. We should keep telling ourselves that. They didn't bother to. Each looked at their opponent differently.

Adam saw it first, before he ever turned around he'd seen the colors infecting the air. The energy leaking from the creature was sickening. It was also familiar.

Kim felt it. She could feel the strength radiating off the creature, but she couldn't recognize it for what it was. The information was simply filed away for later use. She didn't spin, just keeping her eyes ahead, her voice level, and her attention on the man behind her.

"What happened to them?"

Adam was less disciplined. He spun, facing the creature as soon as Kim spoke. That was a waste of time, time that could have been spent reacting. The next second Kim leapt and all Adam felt was blazing pain.

The power rolled across him, enveloping and consuming him all at once. Heat ripped through every section of his being. Each cell burned, knowing a fire that few would believe possible. Darkness, thick black enveloping, followed. The streaming energy having surpassed any threshold his young body could have. Finally the torment stopped, but still the energy clung, blinding him, blocking even the smallest sounds, essentially cutting him off from the world. Silence, thick and terrifying surrounded him. Not even his own breath could be heard. Then he felt it. He knew terror then. Small voices called out inside his skull. They begged and pleaded to be used. They chanted quietly, persuaded, and debated. All this happened too fast, the sensory deprivation causing his mind to work faster than most thought possible. He was capable of it though, the voices reminded him of why. Seconds ticked by, seconds that Kim was alone with that monster. Seconds that Makoto and Sakura's whereabouts remained unknown. They could be injured. Or dead, as the little voices reminded him. One called out for vengeance if they were, another called out that it might not be too late. A third was smarter. It warned him. Its little voice wheedled quietly in the background, reaching his ears through skill instead of volume. It told him he was right to be afraid. That the past mistakes of family were not something to be ignored. But neither were friends and lovers. Would he be any better if he let them die? Shouldn't he save them at any cost? His maker had been stopped, someone would stop him. But it wouldn't come to that, would it? The voice didn't tell him he was too strong for it to happen. Instead it let him know that at this point he couldn't afford to. Otherwise he wouldn't be saving them and that's what he was going to do. He was going to save them.

The voice wheeled and dealed, constantly searching for cracks in the armor that was his resolve, while all the while Kim fought for her life. Truthfully she wasn't Kim anymore though. She had slipped back into the familiar comfort of her new identity. She was Red again. Her moves were always economical. There was no way to know her opponent's endurance, which only left her with one option. Move when necessary, attack only when the blow landed will be worth the effort. Always land the blow.

She was having issues with that right now. There didn't seem to be too many flaws in the giant attacking her. Every muscle it possessed was huge. Even as she ducked absurdly fast masses of muscle that stood in as arms, she could see every detail of the bulging biceps her foe possessed. Adam was already down, most likely dead. Even know the blast of energy the silver haired behemoth had fired clung to the form of the boy who'd been too slow. At this point all that was left was residual chi energy, but it was enough to blind even Red's dull third eye. Although her inner eye was barely developed the left over chi energy shone brighter than the midday sun floating over head. She was in trouble. Her left foot lashed out then, striking him in the side, under his arm pit. Normally striking the sensitive area would have produced a reaction. Instead he just grabbed her and whipped her forward before releasing her to the laws of physics. Landing hurt.

Adam had given in. Finally the voice had showed him more than he needed to know then. The mark, the insignia on the monster's chest was something he'd seen before. That was the day he'd started running. He hadn't stopped yet. But his anger was enough to make him stop and turn. No spawn of his demented creator was going to do this. His friends would be safe. The anger didn't burn like he'd expected. Instead it was cold and effortlessly sank into the pit of his stomach, infecting every inch of him. He felt the power unleash, he'd let go of the mental deathgrip he employed most days. Then he was free.

Energy split and spread, flying free from his body, scattering towards the four corners of the world. The energy flew, traveling along the earth's circumference. Finally they reached where they started. This time they pooled in front of the target they had meant to destroy. His will bent and shaped them, destroying all loyalty to the one from which they'd been issued. Rippling and multiplying they sat, slowly gaining in number.

Adam's cells glowed, an unearthly light shining from deep within him. It continued to morph and gain in substance, transforming to a nearly blinding light. And he was within it. Little voices screamed at him. Mantras began to form, each one having a different objective it wanted him to accomplish. Had his creator had to deal with this? Adam could barely keep even the slightest bit of control. How could his creator have done this daily? _He was a better fighter, in essence a better man. _It was an answer Adam was not pleased to hear, yet the voice showed no signs of stopping. His creator was an evil asshole. But the bastard had had control, had possessed more inner discipline than even the most valiant warrior of light. _He had been an entity unto himself._

The voice cooed again and again. Each time it told him more of the strength and power of his creator, each time luring Adam deeper and deeper into a place he desperately wished to avoid. The ball of energy crackled around him and the silver-haired fighter merely watched now, information filtering through his head.

The voice continued inside Adam's skull, using every chance it had. It cooed, persuaded, and cajoled. It was winning, its deceptively innocent statements were overwhelming the young man's mind. Then another voice, softer, but still distinct and clear, despite the overwhelming tide of chorusing voices.

_You are the scion. Tell them to shut up._

It wasn't that simple, couldn't be.

_Do it._

That voice, it made him listen. There was something familiar about it. His lips moved slightly, forming the words he needed to speak. And the voices stopped. The power was his.

_Choose now and act._

He did. The ball exploded in flash of light so pure that the entire area grew a tad brighter, more alive. The once destructive energy changed imperceptibly. The grass under the fighter's feet began to grow, damaged patches regrowing, and untouched places growing higher. The stone courtyard surrounding the ruined dojo seemed to shine with an odd energy. All of the injured combatants began to stir. And he felt amazing. The energy had become his own again. Every pore infused Adam charged forward, right into the silver haired man's waiting attacks.


	3. Round 3: Converging Destinies

A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been really busy w/ school and my personal life. For those of you who are actually interested in my excuses I'll go into them in greater detail on my author's page. This chapter is short, but I wanted to but something up. For all of those who actually read this story I would really love some form of review, even if it's a negative one. Just something to let me know people are actually reading this. The ego boost would be really nice ;-. Also if you have an opinion of which story should get worked on next let me know. I'm currently at a point where I can resume work on them in any order.

Chapter 3: Converging Destinies

There was a time when anything was possible. She had believed that for the first nineteen years of her life. The last ten years had been proof that while she had been wrong, life moved on. Right now though, as she wearily lifted her head from the ground, her old world view would need to be proven true, or she would never have to worry about it again. Her left shoulder ached and her right wrist burned. Pain flashed through her time and again. The more she struggled to rise the more it hurt. That didn't stop her. It never had before.

She rose, the thick layers of energy parting before her. If she'd been capable of smelling it she would have noticed that the air reeked of the stuff. As it was moving simply felt more difficult, though that was more a factor of her battered body than anything else.

Well honed muscles stretched and strained, giving her leverage against gravity. She stood in a few heartbeats, not a lot of time, even though each one seemed to occur inside a tub of molasses thus stretching out the moment indefinitely. Determination that burned as bright as her hair flared inside her.

Her head was the last part of her to reach the proper height. Had anyone been around to observe her rise they may have described it as the moment in a movie when, despite having a wall dropped upon them, a character rises up, unscathed and ready for battle. The main differences here lay in the fact that Kim had not, in fact, had a wall dropped on top of her, though it certainly felt like it, and that she was most certainly not unscathed. The pain emanating from her left shoulder and the slowly swelling wrist of her right hand were grim testimonials to that fact. Despite all this she slipped into a fighting stance.

Adam's body hung limp in the brute's massive hands. Its thick fingers tightened around the man's throat, sending a resounding snapping sound throughout the hill side. The lifeless body fell once the meaty fingers pulled away. The creature at whose hands he fell turned, its single real eye scoured the battlefield as it did so. When it caught site of Red, who was a ninety-nine percent match for the former teenage hero, Kimberly Anne Possible, the mocking smile it wore only grew.

It charged forward, the white cloth bandages hiding it's right eye blew in the breeze his movement created. The diagonally placed strips of gauze did not scare the woman staring it down. Even the hideous green glass orb that rested where its left eye should have been, did not provoke a reaction of fear from her.

She was not afraid when it reached the spot where she was. She was not afraid when it's fist thudded inches from her skull, when she dropped to preform a sweeping kick. She was not afraid when the giant didn't buckle. She hadn't expected it too.

She rose from behind it, the sweep actually having been converted to a slapdash pivot. Her slim arms curled around its pale pink torso and neck. Her grip tightened as she tried to cut the flow of oxygen to the disgruntled creature in front of her. Small trembling of fear where quickly suppressed when it bucked forward, actually lifting her into the air. Well toned arms worked in conjunction with well honed reflexes, allowing her to remain in her position of power, which was now several inches off the floor. The monstrosity shaped like a man stretched out. Now it was standing straight, while she still hung in the air. Two impossibly beefy arms rose up and tugged at hers. Despite all logic and the principals of human anatomy its over muscled limbs forced her smaller ones away from its neck.

Without even breathing heavily he flipped the former heroine over, the impact of landing leaving her momentarily helpless as all the air rushed from her lungs. Smug with the satisfaction such beings achieve with perceived victory it didn't expect twin heels to thud into its face.

The well worn sneakers of the girl at its feet crashed into its face, forcing it up, slightly true, but enough to allow propel it into the blast of flame coming from the direction of the ruined home. The single, long lasting, jet of fire slammed into it with the pressure of a firehouse, and twice the endurance. Artificial skin and circuitry alike blistered and melted beneath the intense heat.

The mass of manmade flesh and bones protected Kim from the blast. Even so she could feel the intense heat baking the creature. Before her eyes what had been flesh turned to puddles and her urge to vomit vanished as circuitry revealed itself. And then the fire stopped and the creature collapsed upon the scorched earth.

Beyond the creature, in the direction from which the flames had sprouted stood a woman. Her pale, toned body was familiar. The gaudy green and black outfit was even more so. The two glowing hands would have been enough even if Kim hadn't known the woman from the moment their eyes had locked. There were some things you never forgot.

Rage flared inside her, white hot and all consuming. Embers that begun to fade with the fear of her own defeat flared anew at the sight of this blatant reminder of her past. The other woman's face drew into a cold smile.

"Kimmie. It's been so long."


	4. Round 4: A slowly winding snake or why d...

* * *

A/n: Sorry for the lack of updates. School's been crazy recently. For one class alone I've written over fourty pages in the last three weeks, and that's not including work that I haven't done yet and editing. I haven't forgotten about the stories, they're just moving along at a really slow pace because of my studies. 

As for Forgotten446: Thanks. It's always a big fear when working on something like this that the characters will be vapid. Oh and don't worry about the assumptions, I would've made the same ones. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Jeff Higgs: Ask and you shall recieve.

Continental-line: I haven't really reached the real action, but I hope you'll stick with it anyway. And you don't need to send Red after me, really. ;-

Oh and anyone who wants to email me directly, please do so at and put the word review in the subject so I can do a search for them. Thanks. If any one's interested the screen name's Jeevesoncrack.

Chapter 4: A slowly winding Snake: Or why drinking in the middle of the day is bad.

"Not long enough."

The wind picked up, swirling around the hilltop. Lighter pieces of debris lifted into the sky, dancing in odd, intricate patterns. Shego's hair did the same. It twisted and whipped around her back as she stood, staring at her former adversary. Her two hands glowed with an unearthly green light. The small sizzles and crackles of the energy surrounding her hands was forgotten as she stared into the eyes of the person she hated most in this world. Kimberly Anne Possible.

At least, that's who she thought she was dealing with. In reality the woman standing several yards from her, by a burned mass of wires and circuitry, was Red.

For her part Red simply stood there, the wind not doing much to her short hair. It did move her baggy clothes around slightly, but she didn't notice. She was focused on the fight she had ahead of her. Her mind tried to run through things she knew about her soon to be opponent, but ten years had eroded any belief she might once have had in her knowledge of Shego. She'd just have to learn as she went.

The blacked haired woman laughed, the same laugh that had spilled from her lips ten years ago.

"We all thought you were dead. I mean I'd always hoped it wasn't true, but to see you standing here... well it just makes my day. Cause, now I get to kill you all over again. Like you deserve. Come on Kimmie, let's dance."

The world around the two women faded out, once again, as each prepared. Muscles belonging to the opponents flexed and stretched as they stared each other down. Neither set of eyes wavered once. Nothing was capable of distracting either woman.

For Shego the rest of the world disappeared. Her mission faded into the background of her unfinished past. The roaring fire that consumed the dojo reached her ears with the same volume as the mewling of a scared kitten. She wanted nothing more than to make the woman in front of her pay.

At last she would have that chance.

Or so she thought.

She rushed forward, fists blazing, only to receive a punch in the gut. She crumpled.

The crimson warrioress stepped away from the doubled up Shego, snarling as she did so. She never even saw the boot until it smashed into her skull.

The fight quickly degenerated, technique lost as each combatant hurled herself at the other. Finally limbs became tangled as each woman grappled for domination over the other. Smooth white skin and flesh a pale green color contrasted in the warm orange glow of the flickering inferno that consumed the school that had once rested upon the hill.

* * *

Half a world away a man sat at a bar. Many would consider it far too early in the morning for him to be slamming shots down his throat. Once upon a time Ronald Stoppable would have been one on them. Nowadays, he was that man. 

The alcohol had long ago stopped burning his throat, the discomfort could be considered mild at best. As the liquid slid down into his stomach his vision swam slightly. He slammed the glass against the old wooden counter, reaching for his beer bottle as soon as the shot glass was resting on the brown wood.

The bar wasn't the nicest place in Lowerton. Considering the neighborhood, that was saying something. Paint chipped off the parts of the walls that actually had the stuff. Only the top fourth of each wall, and the entire ceiling had a drop of the dull color that passed for white in the establishment. The rest of the walls were made of wood, not the deep mahogany of the bar itself, but instead a lighter, cheaper wood. The stink of smoke hung heavy over the small clusters of tables and chairs. An old fashioned juke box sat ignored in one corner. Various posters hung haphazardly along the walls. Behind the oaken bar was bottle after bottle of liqueur, safely stowed where they wouldn't be broken in a routine fight. The space behind the bartender held empty display bottles and a clock. A glass mirror, ran the length of the space of the bar, tucked behind the shelves holding the bottles. It peaked through at random intervals. One of them was the space where Ron sat.

He slammed back another shot as the door opened. The beer bottle was halfway to his lips when the meaty hand clasped his shoulder. It spun him around, forcing him to forget about the liquid that had been straining at his lips. His eyes took in the man before him. It was his acquaintance from the alley the night before. A small smile slipped across his face.

"Howz can I elp you gentlemen?" The words came across as a drunken slur.

The man from the ally smiled, his hand left Ron's shoulder, coming to rest in the air. It pointed to the strip of gauze bandaging his broken nose.

"I told you that Mack would want a word with you. We're your escort." He moved slightly, allowing Ron to see the two big goons behind him. They were both bigger than they had any right to be. They were both decked out in clothing that screamed hired thug, a style that Ron was quite familiar with. One smiled, the menace in the gesture lost amid the gaping holes inside his mouth that used to house teeth. The other man quietly slapped a chain against his own palm, again and again.

The hand again gripped Ron's right shoulder. The man didn't have time to blink, but he had plenty of time to scream. Shards of the glass bottle remained imbedded in the left side of the man's face. Ron's foot lashed out, crashing into the man's groin. The thug doubled up, blood leaking from his face as he crashed to the floor. Ron's hand quickly found the shot glass. Despite the slight swaying of his body the glass flew accurately from his hand, to crash against the face of the grinning goon. He too went down, screaming as the shards tore at his face.

The third man moved swiftly, the chain snaking out towards Ron's weaponless person. The twenty nine year old stepped to the side, allowing the chain to snake by harmlessly. His calloused fist grabbed the linked chains, tugging at it while the goon was still off balance. The man tumbled forward, right into Ron's waiting left hook. The blond turned back to the bar as the man slumped unconscious by the table.

Ron's hand slammed a twenty down on the counter.

"I'll take another shot," his voice was eerily clear of any obvious signs of his state of intoxication. The bartender went to obey, his meaty hands grasping at something beneath the bar. Ron's fist lashed out again, sending the man cascading back into the display. Glass tinkled around the overweight bartender even as the shotgun slid from the man's grip. Without removing his eyes from the unconscious man Ron reached down into the pocket of his jeans. His fingers easily found his steel money clip. Without removing his hand he separates two fifties from the wad of bills. He tossed them down onto the bar. With a grunt he turned and left, confident that the money would cover both the drink and damages. As the daylight tore into his eyes he suppressed a groan. It was earlier than he thought. Bonnie wouldn't be due to leave for work for at least an hour. Why did he have to tell Bonnie that he worked a nine to five job in Upperton? The answer came to him, despite the buzz clouding his brain. After all it wasn't like he could tell her he spent his mornings drinking, and the afternoons she was working happily drunk. Stifling any more sighs he let his legs carry him forward, trying to waste the time before he could head home. His muscles groaned as he did so. They were still sore from the night's activities.

* * *

Green fire raced across the quickly darkening hilltop. It scorched the earth where it landed, reducing one of the few green patches to black ash. Its intended target flipped through the air, lashing out with her foot. The blow caught Shego off guard. The villainess stumbled backwards as Red landed. The former heroine lashed out again, her intended strike meeting the other woman's flaming palm. Red suppressed the hiss of pain most would have voiced. Instead she ignored the burning sensation, twisting in order to bring her remaining foot of the ground. It spun through the air, careening into the outstretched arm of her adversary. Shego's grip broke as Red's strike struck her elbow, causing it to bend. The street fighter fell to the ground. She tried to rise, but the pain in her leg staved off that act. Shego regained her composure quickly, readying another blast. Red's lithe body rolled from its spot, the bolt of energy missing her barely as a result. 

Pain made Red's face tight as she regained her feet, but she didn't scream. Once again she faced off against her opponent. Both women's chests heaved. The fight had lasted far too long with both of them moving constantly, putting everything they had into every strike. Blood ran from numerous cuts and scratches all over each's faces. Bruises were slowly forming at various points along their bodies. Shego's fists no longer burned.

They made to attack each other again, but were distracted by the now noticeable roar of sirens and flashes of light. Shego's eyes stared down the dirt path the emergency vehicle was barreling over. Her eyes flashed back at her opponent.

"It's been fun. Later Kimmie."

She turned, running away as the ambulance pulled in front of Red. The paramedics surged forth, reaching Adam's body as the first fire truck arrived. A paramedic looked over Red's wounds while the various rescue workers spread out, trying to save the other fighters. Tired and spent, Red did her best to lie to the police officers. They wouldn't do anything anyway.

* * *

Pudgy hands sporting thick fingers moved across a keyboard. A face peered into a glowing monitor. Technology most didn't have access to whirled and clicked, sometimes hummed in the space around the man. The computer he used was available to the general public though. Playing the game with a handicap made things more fun.

His eyes read line after line of text. The fingers moved more. A screen disappeared, the request it'd born satisfied. A phone rang, distracting him. Once he'd have simply struck a button, transferred the call to a video monitor. Nowadays few saw his face. A pudgy hand left the keyboard to grasp the phone hidden in the darkness. The fifth ring broke off midway. He listened as the voice on the other end spoke. He nodded his head once, speaking into the voice filter attached to the edge of the phone. "Thank you," a finger of his free hand reached out, flipping a switch to his left. The filter fell silent. His normal voice flew through the phone lines. "I'll be there as soon as I can."


	5. Round 5: Aftermath

A/N: Just want to thank my great Beta Wannaberouge, for her, as always awesome help editing things. I'm sure you all can figure out which chapters where posted without her editing talents. They're the ones barely legible. ;- Also, this is new, if you want updates on the progress of my work and where it's being posted check out my author's page here. I'll try to keep it up to date and the very least date it so you know how old the progress report is. Also here you will have a chance to see which fics have been abonded/discontinued, paused, or are on the back burner and can then respond w/ emails or reviews to change my mind. As always PLEASE REVIEW. Have a nice day.

Tales of Lost Love:  
Chapter 5: Aftermath

* * *

Morgues are not places where miracles happen. In fact they're the places that get used when the miracle never arrives. The people who work in this one have begun to be corrupted by it. Their jokes are tired, offensive at best. At worst they're an obvious attempt to deal with the cloud of death silently raging around them. The men working here certainly don't believe in miracles. But sometimes, a miracle's what you make of it.

* * *

Many villains have preferred secret hideaways carved out of a handy mountain range in a nameless jungle in Africa, or perhaps South America. These feats of engineering often sport hi tech entrances such as hidden totems that trigger a switch that triggers a mechanism that causes the jaws of the giant stone heads to open. This villain is a little more modern, i.e. lazy but effective. His lair of villainous evil is located in a spot it could never be found. On the thirty fourth floor of a New York City high rise, shared by a law firm and a giant corporation. Nestled safely in between these two... businesses, the hideout was merely a blip on the evildar. Anyone who heard maniacal cackling just assumed it was the lawyers.

The entrance into this office of evil was a simple elevator that required an id badge to access the floor, a standard feature of such buildings. The walkway leading away from the elevator bank was made of green tiles. The polished stone reflected the light from the overhead bulbs, giving the area a feeling of corporate brightness. Past the glass doors lining the exits of the corridor, are desks, equipped with a phone and a bank of TV monitors, showing the financial reports for the day. Past this are the offices, rows upon rows of cubicles, resting upon a puke-green carpet. And past this seemingly endless desert of sameness, is an area clear of desks and carpet. It was once a conference room, but it has been modified at a substantial cost. The walls, all four of them, are lined, not with beige paneling, but grey metal. Some things are not only classic, but necessary. The boss of this enterprise was all for corporate evil, but there did need to be just a touch of egomaniacal super villain to distinguish the lair. This was it. The rather large conference room looked exactly like their stereotypical brethren in other villain's lairs. There were computer monitors and chairs, many scientist types bustling around and a wall of monitors across from the entrance, at the back of the room. And now a woman entered.

Green soled boots pushed off against a cold metal floor. Shego's voice rang out, drowning out her loud foot steps.

"You didn't say anything about Kimmie being there."

Several heads turned at the accusation. All of the men who turned were wearing thick white lab coats. Several held clipboards, while others were sitting at desks, scribbling away with their pens. The only one who didn't turn back to his work was a man with graying hair, who was seated in front of several glowing monitors. Quick fingers moved across the keyboard resting at his waist, even as he faced Shego. Several images moved from the various screens lined out in a horizontal row in front of him, onto the massive one that took up most of the wall in the large, metal laboratory.

"I azzume you mean Mizz Pozzible. Lazt I heard zhe retired over ten yearz ago."

A green claw descended upon the top of the computer bank he was working on. Shego's eyes were plated firmly on the giant screen to her right. It held the image of Kim Possible.

"Well, she was there."

"Are you zure? The only people at the dojo were ztreetfighterz."

"Look, I saw her with my own eyes, alright?"

His head swung back to the terminals in front of his body. His fingers moved once again across the keyboard, dancing with a swiftness and accuracy that would have astounded Shego if she ever bothered to care.

"Let'z juzt have a look at the robotz readingz before hiz termination." Shego didn't miss the glare he directed towards her at the last bit.

Another image appeared on the massive screen, bumping the one of a teenaged Kim Possible over. The new image occupied the right side of the screen. It was of an older woman, possibly in her late twenties. Her muscles were well defined, and her hair was cut short, about shoulder length. Her expression was harder in the right screen, but otherwise the new image was recognizably an older version of the former teen heroine.

"It seemz that the girl you encountered iz known as Red. Zhe'z currently participating in the World Warriorz tournament in a few weekz."

"I want in."

"Why? It'z not like zhe'z a threat to our planz. All of my notez indicate that Red, or Mizz Pozzible, has been retired from all crime fighting for the pazt ten yearz. Zhe'z no danger to the operation."

"He makes a valid point Shego. Or do you think she might pose a threat after all?"

The new voice was like the man who owned it, silky smooth, almost deceivingly so. From listening to it one might think that its owner was a gentleman, but Shego knew better. There wasn't anything gentle about him.

She turned to face him, as did everyone else in the room. Unlike the others, she didn't bow upon his arrival. The sullen, overbearing tone to her voice faded slightly though.

"It's personal sir."

"I see. And what about Du?"

The sudden change in subject didn't faze her, she'd grown use to the odd man.

"I took care of them. You've got a green light."

"I see. In that case I see no reason why you couldn't have a week off. Fritz," a thin boy stepped from behind his shadow to wait by his side. "Make sure Miss Shego is enrolled in the tournament. Perhaps while you're there you could do some recruiting for us."

The slight grin that appeared upon his face made her nervous. It usually did.

"Oh and Shego: Mack's been having some trouble down in Lowerton. Why don't you help him sort it out?"

She nodded as small grin of her own worked its way onto her face. That was more her style.

"Sure thing boss."

* * *

Half a world away, a pudgy black man entered a hospital room. To his dismay the only person in it was frail girl hooked up to life support. He'd been sure she'd be here, but it wasn't the first time he'd misjudged her. Sighing he left the room, intent on making his way back to the airport. He'd just have to try again in a few weeks. Good thing he already had the tickets. He glanced down at the small strips of paper. The word Hawaii was listed on the domestic one. It was the destination. As his eyes traveled the thin strip of paper an idea flashed through his brain. If he waited it would be three weeks before he could approach her. If he was going to play fair he'd have to wait. If he cheated however... His hand reached towards his pocket as he strolled out of the hospital, intent on doing just that. Back in the hospital room the sound of a steady beeping was replaced by a single long note that caused doctors to rush in, as Sakura's heart stopped beating.

* * *

Cool water fell over her shoulders, but she wouldn't cry. Red didn't cry. She had three weeks left. Two if she was only counting the ones she could train during. It didn't matter that Adam's neck was broken, that Makoto's broken body was under the rubble of her dojo, that Sakura probably only had a few more days. It didn't matter that Shego had shown. That was all in the past. Red didn't have a past. She blinked back tears she didn't have, and let the water pound down across her bare shoulders. Her red hair hung limp, soaked through by the torrents of water cascading down around her. Her ears were filled with the roar of the waterfall. She didn't care. Later she would journey back to the small cabin that rested at the foot of the lagoon. When she ventured back there she would train. For now though, she just let the water roll down around her, mixing with tears she didn't have.

* * *

Sakura's eyes shot open, her mouth dropped, and her lungs started sucking in as much air as they could, all without consulting her mind, which was a good thing considering it had thought itself gone. But her rapidly beating heart accompanied by the now steady pulse of a life support system seemed to indicate that the brain had been wrong. The worried looking doctors holding two metal handles humming with electricity was a bit of an odd thing to wake up to though. She wasn't concentrating on that, or on why she was in the hospital. Instead she was trying to figure out why her boyfriend looked purple and see through. She received no answers before her eyes shut and she drifted off into a pleasant slumber.

* * *

It was later, and Red had wound up back at the cottage. She slept, as she often did, and her dreams were nightmares, as they often were. Her body thrashed, as her mind threw disturbing images at her, rapid, like the punches E. Honda loved throwing her way. Small whimpers escaped her heavy lips as she dreamed.

Ron was there, his hair covered by a white wig. His robes billowed and obscured his frame as the hand holding the wooden mallet swung down, cracking the ceremonial instrument against the high box in which he sat.

His mouth curled into a bitter snarl, with traces of a sneer appearing as he spoke.

"Kimberly Anne Possible: this court finds you guilty for Makato's death. And in case I'm once again being too subtle for you KP, let me spell it out for you. You're the reason she's dead. It's your fault. All you do is attract trouble, endangering everyone with your mere presence.

"You haven't changed. You may go by a different name, but you're still the same spoiled bitch you always were."

Her eyelids flickered, never quite opening, but desperately wishing to cease their closure and thus end her own repressed guilt and fear. They stayed closed, letting the nightmares continue. She was saved by a voice coughing quietly from next to her. She froze; there shouldn't be anyone around for miles.

Her eyes opened, her mind becoming fully awake as they did so. She shifted slightly, faking the small whimpers that had been emerging from her mouth. At the entrance to the room stood the enormous form of Wade Load.

"Quit faking Kim I know you're awake."

She did, sitting up to face the phantom from her past.

"How did you find me?"

"I cheated. You've got a chip, just like Ron's. Finally came time to use it."

"Why didn't you do that before?"

"The chips were for in case you or he ever got lost. In this case you chose to leave. It would have been ferociously unethical to hunt you down."

Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. Her voice was venomous.

"So why are you here?"

"I heard about what happened. I've got a contact working in the local hospital. She recognized you and your friends. She gave me a ring when you came in."

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Couldn't have figured it out any other way. I could've followed your blip, but I wouldn't have known your friends were dead."

Angry silence met his declaration, so he continued.

"I'm here to offer you a chance to avenge them. I've been tracking the organization that attacked them. Well, I'm pretty sure they're one and the same. This kind of op fits their M.O. I could have a ride ready in thirty minutes. Maybe a little less, if I give your old name."

"I'm not interested."

His jaw dropped. Of all the possible reactions, he hadn't even dreamed he'd receive this one. "You're kidding right?"

"No. I'm not. I know who did this. My past. My mistakes. I won't repeat them."

"What's that supposed to mean? Is this about Shego, is she the one they sent?"

Silence met him once again. An angry sigh forced its way past his lips. He regretted it instantly; he was trying to keep his calm.

"This wasn't about you Kim. They're hunting Street Fighters. I'm not sure exactly what occurs, but sometimes the fighters turn up dead, other times they don't turn up at all."

More silence waited the ending of his speech.

"Look I really need your help. This is going to continue unless..." He stopped himself, quite aware that the stony silence that had already been established hadn't altered in the least. Sighing he did the only thing that he really could do. He gave up. Just like she had.

"So I can't change your mind?"

Her silence was all the answer he needed.

"Fine, take this. If you change your mind just give me a buzz. At the very least I can arrange a ride for you to Hawaii, for old time's sake." With that he left, leaving her to her meditation, and to wonder how he knew of the tournament's location. She probably shouldn't have. He'd been invited after all.

Once he was sure he was alone, Wade spoke into a watch attached to his wrist.

"Made contact with Possible. Waste of time sir."

A garbled voice answered him, told him not to bother and to "continue on with plan b." Sighing Wade checked to make sure his plane ticket was still intact. It looked like he was going to need it.

* * *

Shego was jet lagged. No two ways about it. Her entire body was sore: toes, fingers, nose, everything ached from being up too long and travailing across far too many time zones. Her recent battles hadn't helped much either. She was beginning to regret participating in a random street-fight. Her opponent had been good, quite so in fact, it was why he was still breathing. If she was really going to think about it rationally then there hadn't really been anything dumb about fighting him. After all how could she really expect to run into Kim Possible after all these years?

Her fist burst into flame as she thought of her old acquaintance. The little bitch had disappeared ten years ago. It wasn't right. She'd had plans for the little heroine. She was going to make Kim beg, scream, and plead for mercy as she savored the wet, painful snapping of each and every bone. Even after all these years she wanted Kim dead, in fact she wanted it more now than ever.

Not that she'd ever articulate why. Maybe to little Kimmie, but never to anyone else. After all, even Kimmie deserved to know why death was coming. Her current boss thought he knew. At best he had a portion of the story. It wasn't just because of the humiliations she'd suffered at the teen's hands. It wasn't just vengeance for past defeats, though there had been many. It wasn't just because Kimmie was smug and perfect in every way. It was also for Dr. D. He was dead because of the redhead bitch. Because she quit.

Du had killed him, without a second thought. The newly reassigned agent had thought he was better than he was and that Drakken was too much of a clown to pull things off. Du had been wrong. She'd personally defeated his team, and Drakken had been about to succeed. The only thing that had stopped them was Du's handgun. He'd held it in his shaking hands, so they'd surrendered, prepared to go to jail even. Drakken's orders, he hadn't wanted to see her shot. The bastard had said it wasn't good enough. She still remembered the smell of the smoke, the acrid tinge that tugged at her nostrils. The sound of the bullet bursting from the chamber, of it entering Drakken's pale blue flesh, severing arteries and nerves, had stayed with her, taunting her whenever her guard dropped. He'd shot her too, but she'd survived, someone had grabbed her. That part was a haze, there was gold, she remembered that, brown as well, and a familiar voice and soft hands, but that was all.

She'd awoken in a hospital, injured, unmoving. And then the boss had approached her. Offers of new purpose were not rejected. He'd promised in time she'd get her revenge. _But you'll have to wait. It's all been planned._ She'd wanted to go after Du right away, but the boss had stopped her. _What will you do then? Do it my way and you can make him suffer, and even when you're done you'll have plenty to do, plenty of pain to cause. _She'd told him she hadn't cared, lied about what Drakken was. _He was just my employer. Comes with the job. He was a moron. _She'd said all three things at some point in the conversation. She'd never once called the blue skinned man her friend. Still she hadn't passed up the opportunity.

The boss, though, hadn't lied. First Du, and now by some weird quirk of fate Possible. It'd taken eight years of mental torture before she'd finished Du. His girlfriends and fish would always turn up dead, victims of brutal attacks. Once she'd even let a girlfriend go, on the stipulation that no one knew the bitch was still alive. That victim was currently living happily in Hawaii. Rented a room from a couple there, last she heard. Not that that mattered. Soon, after ten years Kim Possible would die. All that had to happen first was solving Mack's problem. She knew of a very final way to take care of it. She let the flames die as the private plane began to descend. A guttural smile took its place on her face as she looked at the rapidly growing dot that was Lowerton.


	6. Round 6: Distressing Damsels

Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Possible or Street Fighter and All characters from those shows are the property of their actual owners. I am neither recieving a profit nor seeking one in conjuction with this work. It is a work of parody and merely meant to showcase my appreciation for both shows.

a/n to follow: Please read and review.

Chapter 6: Distressing Damsels

The harsh morning sunlight met Ron Stoppable's eyes and in their light he had to admit it to himself. It was a good question. Did he blame himself? Of course he didn't. She was a selfish bitch, running away for no reason, trying to make him feel bad. So what if she was dead, lying in some gutter, all rotted and nothing but bones. Why should he care? She wouldn't if it was him. No one would have. Bonnie only stayed with him out of pity. His only friend was Jack, who come to think of it was kinda empty.

He turned the bottle upside down, the last drop slid down the bottle's neck, splashing onto the ground in front of him. It stained the dull grey sidewalk. He shrugged, tossing the recently emptied bottle onto the other side of the sidewalk. It shattered, leaving little spikes of glass for any helpless passing animal. He'd have to stop at the liquor store again, just like he did everyday. Couldn't drink in bars anymore, that was sure. Just wasn't really safe. The scumbags were getting smart. Last time he'd gone in for a drink he'd caught the bartender trying to slip him a rufie. He'd broken both of that man's arms and shattered the man's right kneecap. Personally, he'd thought he was being merciful.

He'd been able to handle the normal jackoffs who tried to rough him up. They weren't a match at all. He was the freaking Ron man. But people putting shit in his shit? That was low. Almost as low as that bitch Possible. Why was he thinking about her again? Eh didn't matter, she was freaking dead, had to be. No one had heard from her in... well ever. Stupid bitch. Should serve her right. Right. Yeah right... what was he doing again, for some reason he couldn't remember. His empty hand solved the riddle nicely. His hand was empty. That meant he needed more booze!

Stumbling off, he was completely unaware of the dark eyes following him down the brightly lit streets.

Shego couldn't fucking believe it! Her target was Stoppable. Ron Stoppable! That alone should have made her day, after all he was Kimmie's ex sidekick, and if the rumor mill was right the chewing out he'd delivered was what had caused the bitch to quit. By all rights she should enjoy killing him. But something about it hadn't seemed... right, even by her standards. Something about the whole thing had seemed off. That was what had been staying her hand for the past few days. She couldn't really hold off much longer. Mack was getting impatient. It hadn't helped that it had taken far too long to actually find Mack's problem child. She hadn't made the connection between Ron and Mack's description, since none of the boys could remember 'the punk's' name, despite the fact that apparently Ron had shouted it left and right. Typical, some shit never changed.

She should stop dillydallying and finish this. She knew that, but something was nagging her about it. So instead of dealing with it she went back over the search inside her head, the nights of running a protector deal waiting outside of sell sights waiting for the do-gooder to show. He never chose the ones she did. That had annoyed her to no end. She'd finally found him by accident, as she was calling it a night, she'd caught sight of one of Mack's butt ugly boys getting his faced smashed in, while being told to tell Mack to get out of town. The beat down was pretty professional, and Shego had almost jumped in to end it, but years of honed reflexes had made her wait. She had to be sure. When the fight ended and the man still standing had turned to go Shego had gotten a shock. It was Ron and he'd gotten good. It was thanks to that fact that she'd been able to stall for a little more time, ask for some of the boss's men and not Mack's thugs. After all there was only one way to really be sure who the valiant knight was, and get him off the streets with no fuss when he was as good as the former sidekick was, and she wasn't about to trust Mack's thugs if she didn't have to. Who knows they might get ideas. She knew the boss wouldn't mind her waiting to do it right. Too much rode on keeping a low profile for just a bit longer.

No, she should just focus. Despite it all she would have to move tonight, so she should stop wondering and get ready.

--

In ancient times a ruler would sit in a throne room. At its core a throne room was a giant area made completely of stone and decorated with the nicest rugs, weapons, and other sorts of ornamentation a king could spare. Against the wall farthest from the entry way would contain the king's throne, where he would sit as he ruled over his lands. In more civilized times the giant room has given way to a corner office in a skyscraper. The walls and floors have given way to walls of glass and simple elegant carpeting. The giant throne made of wood and adorned with gold has been replaced by chairs on wheels with ergonomic support for the back and buttocks. Rulers given their rights by the almighty have faded, allowing men like this one to gain control.

Like the kings he replaced the man sitting in the plush, expensive chair ruled over a kingdom. He had servants and men capable of great feats at his disposal. These days such people were called employees and scientists, but the distinction didn't matter much to him.

All that mattered was that his plans were coming to fruition. So close he could taste it. The small checklist attached to the side of his computer monitor was mostly completed, only a few things left.

He perused the checklist again. His eyes lingered on one of the unmarked items. His mind wandered back over the last few weeks, trying to remember if he'd ordered it done. He was pretty sure he had, but between keeping track of his corporate empire and his less legitimate enterprises as well, his rather potent organizational skills were a little strained.

Well he'd just have to ask Shego when she got back from Lowerton. The sun's slow decent below the horizon of steel and glass towers told him he wouldn't have much longer to wait. After all Shego was going to make her move tonight. He'd be pleased when her mission was complete. Mack's operation might not have been vital to his plans, but he was growing tired of listening to the petty drug lord's complaints.

The phone rang. On the caller idea was a single word. It was Mack. Sighing the corporate lord picked up his phone and prepared to listen to Mack's uncertainties regarding the plan.

---

Night had fallen hours ago. By now it had picked itself up and was covering the land in darkness. There was a half moon out, providing a small amount of illumination in the areas of Lowerton sporting broken street lamps. It was surprising how many of those there were. One such lamp was the one just outside of Joe's Bar. The dirty old brick building was steeped in darkness, the moonlight not strong enough to cover for the broken lamp. The only slight illumination came not from the insides of the bar, but the few neon letters left on the building's face. The three working lights gave just enough illumination to see the rotting wooden door and the tarnished doorknob that would grant access to the bar.

The bar was one of Lowerton's seediest. Smoke clung to every inch of the place, despite the laws about that. Big Mack had established what happened to cops who entered his joints. Tonight a large shipment of drugs was going to be stopping there as a transfer point. The shipment was mack's last chance to revitalize his dying business. It was perhaps for this reason even more thugs were there, choking down cheap whisky in a dimly let setting as a jukebox wheezed its way to a slow death. The woman sitting at the bar knocking back a drink knew as much about Mack's desperation and the subsequent shipment, as she knew about the bartender slipping something into her drink.

She slammed the glass down, harder than she meant to. The action caused her to momentarily lose her balance, shaking her breasts, much to the pleasure of the men eyeing her. Their hungry stares took in her short blonde hair, tight red top and black pants. Actually that's a lie, what their hungry stares actually payed attention to was the swell of her breasts and the curve of her ass, or more accurately her tits and ass. The stares didn't belong to very refined men and women. They were fairly perceptive though, they did notice the drugs start to influence her system. Granted even the drunk in the corner noticed her speech slur and her body's odd movements.

Her vision grew blurry and she started to sway a little, catching the eyes of serval of the place's customers. In a voice slurred almost to the point of incomprehension she declared she was sloshed and was gonna go home and that they were wonderful people. Smiling as best she could, she stumbled from her chair and started to head out the door.

She didn't get very far. Several of the men who had noticed her had followed, looking at a chance to take advantage of the bartender's generosity. As she wobbled down an alley, possibly looking for a shortcut home they followed. The spinning in her head become too much for her and she had to pause. She rested her head and an arm against a brick wall, waiting for the world to stop moving. When she finally gave up however much later, time had lost meaning to her, she noticed that even the dim lights from either end of the ally where gone. All that was left was the moonlight overhead.

In front of her were giants, grinning giants whose heads might have been oblong, but that could have been the spinning world doing that. She tried to raise her hands up, to fight her way out, something in her brain told her to, though she wasn't sure why anymore. The leering men stood and waited.

She slipped, giving her attackers the opening they needed. They never got the chance to take it. Strong arms grabbed her, pulling her away. Her rufie addled brain struggled to piece together the blurring images her eyes gave it. She saw streaks of blond, giant dabs of browness. Realization poured over her as the soft touch penetrated her addled senses. It didn't stop her fist from lashing out, the mere effort making her world spin again. It smacked against his face, shoving a tightly clutched rag into his nose.

The chloroform soaked rag did its work, as he inhaled deeply, out of a natural instinct. The gas filtered into his system, overwhelming nerves and conscious desires. His arms dropped, releasing her. She stood unsteadily on her own two feet as his face met the pavement. Her cold eyes stared into her attackers.

"Would one of you mind grabbing him? I'm a tad woozy."

A henchman rushed to obey as another stepped forward to steady her. She leaned on him all the way back to the lair. When the damn pill wore off she'd have a lot to think about.

---

If Morgues offer a dearth of miracles, than graveyards most certainly have a famine of them. And this is exactly what the hill where Makoto's Dojo had once stood had become. It was a cool day and cloudy as well. Tendrils of mist curled around the ground, giving everything a slightly damp quality. A group of people, many quite oddly dressed for such an occasion, stood around a shallow grave. It was already filled and the service had long since ended. There was nothing in it, but that was alright. Makoto's remains were behind the grave, resting upon a wooden pedestal inside an urn. This was not exactly traditional, but very little about Street Fighters was. And that was what Makoto had been, so her father had come to a difficult decision. He had left the filled urn atop the hill so that those she had known, those that had respected her and fought against her, could pay their respects. Already many fighters had traveled in, once they had heard the news, which had been the reason he had allowed so much time to elapse before the formal service. Those that had come by had either been in the area, or had known Makoto and had been easily reachable. Those that were standing at Makoto's memorial now were of the latter category. The rest would come later.

Sakura sat inside the wheelchair she had been confined to, at least for the time being, clad in her normal fighting outfit, or at least the one that had become normal over the last few years. It was a variation of the one she'd worn when she was just a schoolgirl. It had the same colors in the same places, but it was a body suit, much like the one the woman standing next to her wore these days. A single tear ran down Chun-li's face, complementing the many that ran down Sakura's, as they all stood before the grave. Chun-li had only met Makoto a few times, but each and every time she had been impressed. The young woman had an inner strength to her that had been nothing short of shocking.

Standing behind Sakura, with a single strong hand upon her shoulder was the man that had become her mentor years ago. She tried to look up, to find the same comforting gaze that had helped her refine her style all those years ago but just couldn't. To look into Ryu's eyes now would make it all real, would shatter all of her vain hopes that this was just a dream, a horrible terrible nightmare that she would soon wake up from. It wasn't though. The days that had passed had proved it.

As she had lied in the hospital, body aching she had plenty of time to think. She had time to wonder and panic over the fate of the others. It wasn't until about a week later, when the doctors had just about finished giving her a near constant regiment of medication, that she'd awoken to the sight of Ryu and Chun-li. The very first lucid thought she'd had that morning, as the haze of pain surrounding her thoughts intensified, was that everything had to be a dream, a horrible, awful dream. Those horrible days alone in the hospital, barely lucid enough to worry but too drugged to do anything else even speak, could only be a nightmare. The look on her mentor's wife's face destroyed that frail hope. Ryu's sad eyes only confirmed the sneaking suspicion that she prayed wasn't true.

She'd cried as hard as she could ever remember when she'd found out everything. Ryu and Chun-li had just recently arrived, only hearing about the incident from Makoto's father just recently. Oddly enough it was a cryptic call from Rose that had sent the two traveling to find Sakura. Sakura was too upset to notice the scowl on Chun-li's face as the mystic's name was mentioned. Ryu did not miss it, and though he did not show the emotions he was feeling them too.

To this day Sakura had wished that it was all a lie, but they'd shown her Adam's dead corpse and she'd been left to mourn her boyfriend. And now... now she was sitting in the wheel chair she'd probably be stuck in for the rest of her life, chi or no chi, staring at her best friend's funeral urn. And to make it even worse, the woman Makoto had begun to love had vanished in the aftermath of the attack. Noone had heard of Red in the few weeks since the attack. To the best of Sakura's knowledge if the woman was alive she hadn't even visited the grave site yet. Of course that was a very big if and Sakura couldn't force herself to believe it could be possibly true. The far harsher reality was all she had left, all her friends, except for Sean, who had not arrived yet, had died.

---

Shego looked around the makeshift dungeon. Dungeon was definitely the word. Technically it was a basement in a run down, nearly abandoned building, but the sheer dankness, not to mention copious amounts of mold, forced the mind to think of musty cages complete with torture racks and evil kings. The fact that there were two hooks designed to loop chains through embedded in one of the walls only made the work of Shego's imagination that much easier.

She and the henchmen she'd had the boss send down where lounging in various parts of the large room waiting for word that their ride was ready. The three burly men were sitting around a folding table playing cards while she took her turn watching over the prisoner.

It was purely coincidental that she was multitasking. As her eyes watched her brain thought. From her position leaning against a rotting wooden beam Shego pondered what she was gonna do about the man she'd captured.

She stared at his blonde form. He dangled from chains. Technically she should just kill him. He'd been a pain in her ass for years, and now he was fucking with one of her boss's operations. Mack was operating with the Boss's permission so interference could not be tolerated. In the crime game respect was everything. Even a shithead like Mack knew that. By fucking with Mack's operation for as long as he had Ron was making the boss look bad. She should kill him for that. But, he had saved her life. And it wouldn't harm her to spare him. Word of mouth could get around that the boss had captured Ronnie to do, well many unpleasant things. The boss was great a spinning situations. And it wasn't like she had to kill the former sidekick. The boss would let her keep him to pay off her debt to the hanging man.

Slowly Ronald Dean Stoppable's eyes drifted open. She broke out of her thoughts just as quickly. She pushed off from the beam she'd been resting against and closed the distance between them before he'd half woken. Her fist greeted his return to consciousness, ending it as it started. With a nod to the men who'd looked over at the noise she went back to lounging and waiting. Silently she reflected that if she was really serious about keeping him alive she'd need to keep him unconscious. After all if she let him wake up, he'd be sure to make her rethink her position rather quickly. Yes, he could be that annoying.

Now if only their freakin ride would get there.

---

Red walked down the small Indian wharf. There was no limp, though by all rights there should have been. She had a hell of a week. And because of it she had a lot to think about, not that she would ever let herself deal with it. Not even if it had- her inward thoughts were shattered as quickly as they had snuck up on her. There in front of her. A figure was waiting for her by the barge. It leaned against the hull of the ship, staring off into the night. She couldn't really make out much, but the shape of the hair gave it away. The second shape lurking in the shadows, colorful ballcap firmly in place also helped give her a clue. Yun and Sean traveled together often. There was a reason. She was surprised they weren't currently pawing each other then and there. She went to walk by Sean, in no mood to talk.

"Why didn't you go after her?"

Apparently he wasn't going to let her. She wanted to stride by him, maintain her silence and aloofness, but that didn't happen. Some small inner remnant of her past sent a flash of rage through her, causing her mouth to burst open with a reply.

"She's not the one who killed them. The robot did."

"They work for the same person."

Great, now Yun was getting involved. Getting tagteamed by the Buttbuddies, oh joy. The use of Adam's old nickname sent a trill of longing through her, softening her next words even as it prompted her to give them voice.

"Technically she saved my life. I haven't forgotten what that means. If I see her again, we'll end this."

That seemed to satisfy the two men, because they let her walk by, onto the ship. It didn't satisfy Red though, but she couldn't say why. Nothing seemed to satisfy her anymore. She'd tried to move on, as she always had. She'd picked up and left the cottage soon after Wade had, giving herself much needed space. She'd even trekked all the way out to India for no reason at all. The trip there hadn't been too bad. Endless waves had rocked the boat and a light wind had accompanied them the entire way. The sky had been clear and the sun had been shining as the small fishing boat had made its way onward.

---

He was waiting for her. That shouldn't have shocked her, shouldn't have surprised her at all. He was just as hands on as Drakken had been. It wasn't enough for the typical employer employee relationship. If she was gonna be his second he'd needed to make it personal. So he waited for her to arrive, because he insisted that's what good employers did.

Which was why at three o'clock in the morning when the helicopter touched down in his private helipad he was standing there, next to some nameless employee which was holding the familiar green and white umbrella over her boss's head.

As the rotor's slowed to a stop she hopped down, landing deftly, enjoying her reflexes once she again possessed them. She didn't cross to greet the man waiting for her right away though. Instead she waited in the misty rain, small droplets of water surrounding her as she glanced back at the helicopter. The goons who'd traveled with her took a little while to get the prisoner out.

I forgot to ask you earlier Shego, but are you alright?"

"Yeah boss."

"Good. And the scion?"

Her lips pursed into a malevolent smile. "Dead boss. We can move on to the next part anytime you wish."

Ah, that's very good. Though there is one more thing. Your... acquaintance, Red, has apparently taken it upon herself to close down one of our operations in India. Now it wasn't really a sizeable loss, but we can't let this go unanswered. Appearances must be maintained. So won't you be a doll and send her a message?"

"Anyone in particular?"

"Actually yes. As I understand it, her old friend Wade has contacted her, a little time ago. I think he'd be an excellent messenger. Besides this way we can kill two birds with one stone."

"No offense boss, but you don't think that'll keep Kimmie away?"

"Personally I don't care if it does Shego. This is really a warning for any other good natured fools who wish to involve themselves in our business."

"So why don't I kill her then?"

"Well, there are many fools who are willing to die for truth, justice, and mom's apple pie, but few are willing to sacrifice their friends and family for the cause. We can always take care of Red if and when she becomes a threat. Besides I have no doubt that if you run across her in the tournament she'll never have the chance to become one. "

"Whatever you say boss."

"Oh and Shego, before you go, I have one more question, about your performance in Lowerton."

I am wondering why you chose that method. It seems rather indirect for you."

She froze, the sudden stiffness in her muscles no doubt apparent to her employer. Her mind flashed desperately through different options. She could lie, but it wouldn't do any good. He'd know. He was very good at reading people. She'd witnessed that many a time for her self. Turning around she chose to simply tell the man the truth. The sight that greeted her nearly stole her voice away.

Her boss was facing away from her, staring into one of the giant wall monitors. On it was a picture of the compounds only current prisoner, bare chested and chained to a wall in a room Shego didn't recognize. After a moment of silence she found her voice and gave the man an answer.

"I owed him boss."

"Mmm, strange. Well your mission was completed and it's not like I don't have the resources to keep him fed and contained so it's no problem. But, I do wonder. What did Ronald Dean Stoppable ever do for you?"

Her voice took on a hard edge as she remembered that day again, the smoke, the shock, the scream of pain and spray of blood.

"Got that scar."

And with that she turned and left, leaving her employer with his computer screen and his thoughts.

---

Water lapped at the side of the boat. The white crest met and merged with the side of the boat, mimicking the gentle caress of lovers. A light wind had arrived, dispersing the overpowering stench of saltwater and breaking the heat of the day. There were a few birds circling over head, the bright sun high above making them look like flying shadows, the only patches of darkness in a clear blue sky. Some fish jumped across the waves, creating small flashes of silver from time to time.

The woman staring out into the ocean as the small boat moved forward did not notice any of this. Her eyes were merely pointed forward. Her brain was too lost in its own thoughts to process the information it was receiving. Which was the only excuse she didn't hear the man walk up behind her.

"I heard about what happened here."

Silence met his statement.

"It's not like you Red. Helping people. You wanna talk about it?"

More silence. The man standing next to her sighed and made a decision. He leaned forward, letting his dark arms rest on the rail in front of them. The wood was warm from the sun. He too looked forward, letting his eyes rest on the landscape same as she did.

"You wanna know what I think Red?"

No reply was forthcoming but by now he wasn't really expecting one.

"I think you're bothered by what happened in Japan. I think Makato and Adam's deaths have gotten to you. It's why you helped that girl isn't it? Why you fought those fights."

When all that greeted his observations was silence he sighed once again. Then he turned around and allowed his back and elbows to rest against the wood.

"Y'know I have no clue about your past Red. The only one who might have was Adam and he refused to share. So I don't know what I'm talking about or anything. But still, you can't keep running Red. It's not doing you or any one else any good."

With that he pushed off the railing and walked back towards the hold. Pausing for a second before he left her he turned his head to say one more thing.

"Eventually you're gonna have to deal with it. Makoto and Adam are gone."

After that Sean left and didn't speak to her for the rest of the voyage.

to be continued:

A/n2: So yeah I recognize that I take forever to update, but I've already started on the next chapter. With any luck I'll have it done in about a week or so. Anyway I'd love to see some reviews, though I guess I'll probably need to update more frequently then huh? ;-


	7. Chapter 7: What happens in Foreign Lands

Disclaimer: I don't own Streetfighter, Kim Possible or any of the characters or scenes associated with those shows. This is a parody story meant for entertainment only.

Author's note: Long time no update. Well here is chapter seven. I have one small warning. The last part of the chapter has some violence and takes a peek into the head of a very nasty individual. It's not explicit but it may be disturbing to younger readers. As always I'd love to here your thoughts:

Chapter 7: What happens in Foreign Lands…

Systems check.

The words were blazed in brilliant red upon closed eyelids. A series of numbers and letters followed. Programming code. Complex programming code. Perhaps a few experts in the field might be able to read it. For even those few though it was unlikely that any of them would be able to truly understand how the code worked well enough to replicate it. The genius who had built this prototype and designed its programming lay in a shallow grave near the wreckage of a discarded Shadowloo base in the deep Amazonian wilderness.

The programming code had finished its brief duration on the internal screen. Now sentences were the featured film. Each system in the artificial body appeared in descending order as part of a scrolling list. After each item a few dots would follow followed by the word check. After this initial assessment of available parts a diagnostic would occur. A similar scrolling checklist appeared but this time after the dots the status of the indicated system was listed. The spinal cord was listed as heavily damaged. The synthetic muscles in the chest had been lightly damaged. The psycho-power filtrators had suffered serious stress.

After the diagnostic, repair systems came online. The first priority was the spinal cord. The system of alloyed metal and fiber-optic cables too time for the nanobots to repair.

Finally it was time for the personality program to engage. As per its programming the rebooting system did not load the file marked: personality profile Adam. Instead it downloaded certain files in the memory folder from that master file.

A look at the programming code, with the proper knowledge to understand it, would reveal that the system was searching for all information that had been obtained relating to the fighting styles of the various 'street fighters' around the globe. Each observed fighter had his or her own file. Inside each data file would be physical, psychological, and historical profiles. Also present would be a complete breakdown of the subject's fighting style including a listing of strengths and weaknesses, as well as recordings of the style complete with a muscular breakdown of every portion of the style. After the download was complete the program used this information to create a series of protocols, complete with the necessary program code, that would allow perfect replication of each style.

When the necessary protocols were completed they too were added to the final destination of the downloaded files. Soon a bar appeared. The little meter began completely gray and small amounts of blue appeared as the percentage completed, listed under the bar, climbed ever higher. The title above the bar read: Phase II System Loading.

*

Hidden hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth lies a secret laboratory. Unlike the corporate penthouse of Shego's current employer, this lab was designed by a man who had an appreciation for mad scientist sheik. The walls and floors of the facility were gunmetal gray and constructed of sheet metal. At random points throughout the instillation the rivets used to hold the various sheets together were readily apparent.

Strange wires and tubes appeared seemingly at random and disappeared into the falls a few feet later. Much of the complex was a series of symmetrical narrow corridors giving the place a look that could be conceivably have been envisioned by a lazy animator short on time.

In one of the labs, large open square rooms complete with pneumatic glass doors, which sealed and opened with a hiss, lurked a wide glass tube that reached from the floor to the ceiling. It was filed with a strange viscous green fluid. This in and of itself was not an outstanding or differentiating feature. The various labs throughout the underground lair were replete with such things.

No the unique feature of this tube was the woman floating in it. Her black hair stood out against the almost neon green slime. Her face was covered in a plastic breathing mask and dozens of wires and tubes were connected at various points on her body. One of these carried away her urine and fecal matter. Another kept her full of vital nutrients and liquids. Another delivered the serum that would render a willing slave of her new master. And yet another delivered fresh nanobots to work out her muscles to keep them from atrophying during her recovery.

She had been recovered from the sight where the scion's last transmitted single had been. The drone sent to collect its body had been unable to locate it in the rubble of the collapsing house. Instead it had found her. Rather than returning to his master with nothing to show for the trip the remote operator had the drone rescue the woman. At the very least she could serve as a test subject for the latest serums the master had developed. The scion's programming ensured that it would self repair and return when it could. The recovery of the scion's body was only meant to facilitate the process of it's progression into the second stage. It would happen regardless.

Meanwhile the scientists monitored the woman's vitals and her own recovery process. By even their conservative estimates she would be ready to be processed in a matter of days.

*

"They never did find a body,"

"Oh stop it. The entire place was an inferno. She was likely cremated in the fire."

"Still. If there's any hope."

"Ryu. I know you don't want to except it anymore than Sakura but the chances…"

When Chun-li's voice trailed off Sakura knew she was caught. It wasn't much of a surprise. Her new wheelchair meant that sneaking around was next to impossible. Her wheels clicked the loose floorboards of the small hut that the couple lived in. A normal person might have failed to notice in the midst of a difficult conversation. Considering how one of her hosts was a member of the law enforcement community and had survived several attempts on her life in the last year alone, and the other was a martial arts master who had taught Sakura everything she knew about being in tune with your current environment, the former pupil was surprised she'd been able to steer herself into a positon to eavesdrop even a little on their conversation.

It was frustrating. She shouldn't have been relegated to another room while they discussed the fate of her friends like she was still some child who couldn't handle the news. If there was any chance that Makoto was still… But it was silly to think like that. Her old master could. He hadn't been there.

Over a week had past and still the memories were as vivid as the day it had happened. Her nightmares hadn't dulled either. She could still feel the heat of the flames surrounding her. The chi blast had ignited the timber, at the same time the force of it had cracked many of the timbers. The result had been a falling mass of burning timbers. The dojo had become a coffin.

Makoto had reacted quicker than Sakura could have hoped to. With a sharp blow to the chest the other woman had sent the former fan-girl flying. The path hadn't been fully clear and Sakura had crashed through the weakened walls of the dojo and tumbled out of control until she'd come to a sharp stop just outside the radius of the flaming debris. It was that hit that had ensured her place in her wheelchair and not in the morgue. There was no way to survive the dojo, not if you were trapped inside. Makato had never developed chi projection. She'd managed to enhance her own strength and speed but that was all. With the flames and falling debris that would never have been enough to ensure escape or survival.

Ryu and others had still searched all over at Sakura's insistence. They'd found nothing. Finally they had gathered ashes from the sight and placed them in a place of honor so the others could honor the fallen friend.

Sakura had been released from the hospital to attend the ceremony. She'd never returned. Instead Ryu and Chun-li had taken her back to the small domicile where Ryu had trained her.

In many ways this was quite like her first trip up. She was once again here to be taken care of. This time however there was no exuberance in her. Her eyes did not shine with the joy of being near her childhood hero. The last time she'd walked side by side with Ryu, grunting and complaining good naturedly as the ridiculous climb had worn on. This time was different.

Ryu had had to carry her up from the base of the mountain. The bus they'd taken had dropped them off there and there had been no other way to get her up the winding narrow path that would eventually lead to the couple's Japanese haven. It would be suicide to try and make her way up the mountain. She could barely direct the clunky machine she was trapped in. She could certainly not must the strength to master the steep uphill path. Her grip would be sure to fail and then she'd careen off to her doom.

But now she was here, staying with the couple, and forced to listen in at doors to here the truth of matters.

She was technically their guest.

She felt like their prisoner.

She couldn't leave the mountain, or even the house without help. It hadn't been designed for wheelchair access. She was stuck in whatever room they left her in. She certainly couldn't manipulate the door handles while stuck in the chair. The stairs were far beyond her capabilities at this point.

Worse, her hosts had apparently been advised that she should avoid stress. In the days she had been in their custody she had heard nothing of the world beyond the walls and rolling hilltops. To her Red's whereabouts and safety were still unknown. Sean had promised to go looking for her, but Sakura didn't know if he'd had even the smallest trace of luck.

And as her master pushed up the door and affixed her with a stern look that spoke volumes about ease-dropping, while taking her back to the small room it had taken her a half hour to escape, she realized she really was a prisoner.

*

The quiet lapping of the waves against the hull of the boat did nothing to soothe Red's seething thoughts. Again and again the incident that was India played out in her mind.

After Wade had left she'd been furious. The assumptions he'd had had struck a nerve with Red. Kim Possible's career as a heroine had ended years ago. She had no interest or inclination in saving the world. Nor did she even wish to be reminded of the days when she'd frequently done so. It was one of many reasons she'd kept using the moniker Red instead of reclaiming the name she'd renounced before.

Years ago she might have been more livid in her displeasure. Dramatic thoughts would pool inside her head and seek expression in a melodramatic outburst. She would have sighed and hot fresh memories of the incident that had sent her running would tear down the fragile scars that had grown over that wound.

She was twenty-nine now. An adult. She had no interest in theatrics. She was content to allow the events to have happened as they did. Wade had annoyed her. His pompous arrogance and the insinuations that she would leap through hoops just because he used the blatant attack as a prod. True she'd been confused, not in possession of the full facts at the time.

The appearance of Shego had riled her. It had seemed that her past had suddenly returned. Her time meditating under the waterfall had given her some perspective. She hadn't been even an incidental target of the robot. The only reason she had become a focus of its attentions was that she was the last one standing. The only reason her past had become important was because Shego had been there. Shego had seemed surprised to see her, so it was unlikely the green skinned witch had been there solely for her.

Shego had probably traded up and worked for whoever built the robot. She'd come to the conclusion shortly after Wade had left, when the intense anger of fury had bled away under the torrential force of the waterfall.

What was left was a quieter bur more prescient anger. It would flare up when she thought it had passed, the incident away from her mind. It left her moody, irritable and unable to accomplish her training.

So she had packed and left, her skin still bruised. She had time before the tournament and it could be better spent sitting around, moping. There were countries to see, bouts to enjoy.

So she had left the small island that was Japan on a boat. The ride had been uneventful, and she had arrived in China without delay. From there she'd traded more of her savings for train tickets, which carried her across most of the large country. She had little interest in spending her time there this time. Without a final match with Gen the trip would feel wasted. So she'd set off for India.

She'd arrived via the north eastern border of the country. The air was hot and humid, and sweat forced her normally baggy clothes to stick to her like a second skin. It was wonderful. With a smile on her face Red sought her first challenge. She found it in a small market in the city of Simla. The Ganges ran nearby and the waters were a welcome relief. Splashing water fiercely on himself was a man she remembered from a previous tournament. His bright pink Gi stood out among the muted browns and whites that most of the locals wore. Around him were some local children, a few ran around displaying the signed pictures he had given them. From the idle chatter of the children none of them knew exactly who he was. There was some speculation that he could be Jackie Chan. Or even Fei long. Red did nothing to disabuse them of the notion.

Instead she'd barely had time to utter a greeting before she was challenged to an 'earth shattering exhibition match'. It was certainly bone rattling for Dan. He was getting slightly better. She hadn't expected his attempt to harness his chi into an attack to produce anything. So she'd been caught surprised when it had. Luckily the gout of energy had barely been the size of a penny, and she'd escaped with a slight bruise on her cheek.

She'd won of course. But it had been nice to work out some of her recent stress on a willing target. She'd walked off with a smile on her face as Dan had launched into his teary eyed promise to seek her out to regain the honor of his dojo.

Her trek through northern India had been much the same. When she wasn't walking or hitching she'd seek out the local matches, and use her prowess to earn some extra cash. Most of her opponents were just local toughs. Men and women who thought that they had what it took to be true warriors. Most of the time she did them a favor by stamping out any thoughts they had of being a big fish.

New Deli had changed her plans.

The day she'd arrived the city bustled with the daily routines of hundreds of thousands of people. The sun overhead turned the entire city into a heated rank mess. The sweat and body odors of hundreds of people mixed with the dirt and rotting garbage laying upon the streets. Red had no idea just how many residents lived in the slums where she sought her next match. But it seemed like each and everyone of them had collided with her. On this instance a hand tried to use the distraction of the collision to grope her chest. Behind her a much smaller hand tried to liberate her money from the pockets where it rested while she was defending her chastity. Neither hand succeeded. She caught both of the would be annoyance and with a tug yanked them from the safe obscurity of the bustling crowd.

Two children lay before her. Their skins were streaked with dirt, mud, and the detritus of the streets. The two were clearly different ages, and the younger did her best to cower while the older stared her down defiantly despite his compromising position.

"You hall not take us there!" he declared in fierce unflinching Hindi. Or at least she was pretty sure that was what he'd said. Hindi wasn't her best language, and the child was highly agitated, causing him to speak in a rush that sacrificed clarity for forcefulness.

"Now is that what you say to someone you try and molest and rob? I don't think so. Now say sorry."

If he was surprised by her fluency in the language the boy did not show it. Instead he locked his gaze upon the buff heavily muscled woman clutching his arm tighter than the grip the men in the orphanage had. He would not fall for her tricks. She was like the others who lurked the streets looking for children like him. She would draw him out and then once she was sure he had no parents she'd use the excuse to send him there. It was worrying. /not that he was scared. He was sure he could escape again. But he wasn't sure Nana would survive a trip to that horrid place.

So he would stare, and challenge her with silence. She would be unable to break him and would have to let them go. If not he would scream and kick and maybe Nana could run.

Nana on the other hand had no idea what her protector was planning and instead had ceased to cower behind him. The woman was pretty with her pale skin and looks. So strong. The little girl couldn't slip her arm from the woman's grasp, but the hold didn't hurt. With the clarity of a small child she cleared her throat and tried to respond to the scary woman.

"Uh," she began hesitantly. "My mother said if you apologize you have to say a person's name or it doesn't count."

The strong woman smiled. It didn't make Nana feel any safer though.

"Well, you are very polite aren't you? My name is Red."

"I'm sorry for trying to do those things to you Miss Red."

The situation was getting surreal. When she had grabbed at the hands that were obviously acting in concert Red had assumed she'd find some adult thief, or maybe a teenaged pervert looking to make a quick buck. The two children had been a surprise.

She recognized the boy's posture. Defensive. Not repentant in the least. She had no doubt that in his own mind his actions had been justified. And she had to admire his execution. Sure he'd had the little girl take part but she was just the thief. Considering the obviousness of his distraction and the intimate nature of it, it was likely that anyone else would only focus on the inappropriate hand gestures. It was disturbing that the boy was already proficient in using sex as a weapon, but Red had to admit these didn't look like two spoiled rich kids.

The grime was thick on them, and only a few small patches of the little girl's face were clean enough to see actual skin. They were both thin, too thin for children of that age.

She wasn't an unkind woman. Mostly she simply ignored other's issues. They weren't her problem, and kept to herself. It was best not to get involved. You couldn't save anyone, not really. Supervillians were easy in comparison. You broke a machine here and there. How did you help two desperate starving kids. Sure you could give them a little food or money, but even if it went into their own mouths and not that of some leech who had affixed itself to them, it would only be a brief respite. The next day would bring even more hardships.

If you let yourself care it would drive you insane. So kneeling down so that she was face level with the little girl and saying with as kind a smile as she could manage.

"I accept your apology Miss…"

"Nana."

"Miss nana!"

"Nana don't talk to her!" The boy screeched out. Red was pretty sure that boys weren't supposed to be able to reach that octave. But he was still young, and maybe that screech would deepen with time. Resisting the urge to plug her ears Red kept her attention on Nana.

"I'm gonna let go of your hand and reach into my sack. I want you to stay here or it'll go very hard for your friend. Okay?"

With the little girl's nod Red did as she said and pulled back out one of the energy bars she collected for use upon the road. The food wasn't exactly tasty but it was calories and it didn't go bad easily. It was the same reason she kept a few dehydrated meals. After handing the bar to the girl she reached back and freed another two bars and a few dehydrated meals from the heavy pack. A small bag large enough to hold the food came next. It was half of her current supplies, and she really shouldn't be just handing them out. But she still was. She helped Nana store the food, and against her better judgment gave the half starved looking girl a bar,

"For right now. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

"Nana no!" With the boy's scream the girl's look of delight fell and her arms ceased bringing the opened snack to her mouth.

"Why not! I'll share. I was only gonna have half of it."

"Nana. Stop being stupid. She's one of them. It's gonna be drugged. We eat it and then pass out and she drags us back there."

Red stared at the scene being acted out in front of her. It was as if the two children had forgotten her presence. As they continued to argue, and finally loudly agree with each other, she realized they had.

"You're so smart!"

The little girl was squealing. Squealing. Red had trouble remembering if she'd ever been that young once, though indeed she had. Back then though she'd squealed about panderroo and cooties, not the paranoid theories of her sole protector who was only a few years older. But at this moment, as the two children acted like children, Red had trouble remembering that. Instead she could only smile as the two went back and forth causing a scene, and the bustle around the three dissipated.

"There they are!"

The thick raspy male voice ended the oddly touching scene. All the traces of relaxation that had appeared when Red had given the young girl food vanished instantly. The girl ran behind the boy, and since Red was still holding him, red as well. The boy's pulse, which her grip let her feel sped up even more. His eyes grew wide wish shock.

"You have found my brother and sister," the man said in English. "Thank you. I was so worried."

The lie was so blatant that Red doubted she was supposed to believe it. There was no resemblance between the three of them, and she was pretty sure the older man was of Pakistani descent. The girl and boy were clearly natives of the streets. Not to mention the instant reaction in both children to this man. If he was their brother he was at best an abusive nightmare to cause the to children to react so. Even her catching the little boy in the act of attempted theft had provoked defiance and bluster. There was none of that now. There was only an overwhelming fear.

No the man did not expect her to believe that these children wanted anything to do with him. Instead this man was banking that she was a stranger. She was supposed to notice the way he carried himself, and the other men following him at a respectable distance. She was supposed to think that these children weren't her problem and go her merry way. And if she did think about intervening the obvious posse was to show her she was outnumbered. And to distract her while more goons took up positions in side alleys around the busy main street.

And he was right. These children weren't her problem. No matter what she wouldn't see them again, so why should she risk her life for them. But he was wrong too. She wasn't a hero anymore. She no longer deluded her self into thinking that flipping around could affect any real change in the world. She'd seen and done too much for that. But there was no way in hell a gang of two bit thugs was going to intimidate her into doing anything.

It happened all the time in too many areas of the globe. Some hard bitten sociopath set up shop and corralled the local toughs and bastards who mostly lacked consciences into a gang. The parasites thrived at the expense of the poor and weak. Property was there to be damaged, citizens there to be enslaved and used for profit. Any perceived resistance, such as looking directly at them, was met with an overwhelming display of cruelty. A survival mechanism to ensure that the populace would be too fearful to seek help from each other or an authority. And they coerced and bribed the authorities as well, to drive in the bitter truth that there was no safety to be had anywhere.

What exactly these sick freaks wanted with the kids Red didn't want to know. Red hot rage surged through her, and her muscles tensed as the 'brother' laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"Get out of here toots. These kids ain't worth getting hurt over. Though if you're looking for a good time-"

The snap of his wrist breaking interrupted the rest of his lame come on. It wasn't meant to convince her of anything, not really. There was a not at all subtle subtext that he'd be having a good time at her expense whether she wanted it or not.

For that she first used her hold on his broken wrist to drive him down to his knees and then stomped her foot down as hard as she could on his juevos. The sharp shriek that left his mouth as his face became a pale color more than compensated for the threat and the sniggering of his cronies. Another stomp broke the fingers on his remaining hand.

The thugs were standing in surprise. They hadn't expected their leader to be so brutally defeated. Unfortunately for them their surprise didn't turn into fear. Instead brains unsuitable for tasks more complicated than beating on those deemed weak, determined that charging was the best option.

Red didn't wait for them to reach her. With a savage grin she leapt into the air, higher than the fools on the ground thought was possible. Behind her the sun rose to the pinnacle of its daily arc. Her shadow coated the ground and she was eclipsed by the brilliance of the midday sun. She could see the thugs squinting as they tried to discern where she was.

Below and behind her Nana gasped. Her young small face lit up with awe and envy. She wanted to be able to do that. The boy that now stood his ground in front of her, was shocked. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Red didn't think about the impossible. She didn't think of the odds, or the height of her leap. That was one thing she'd kept from her youthful days. When the time came for action you never accepted the word impossible. Nay saying and second guessing were for before and after a decision was made. Once you had committed you stopped thinking about impossibilities and instead focused on evaluating the situation and yourself.

She knew she was good. She'd spent more than two decades fighting. It was true that in the last decade she had mainly spent her time focusing on single combat. The opportunities to take on even a group of badly organized thugs were rare and far between. Generally it was the local fighter's friends who didn't want to part with the cash they'd staked on him. But she'd spent her time honing her body, her skills to as close to perfection as she could manage. The men and women she fought against demanded no less. Each and everyone of them made a living kicking the shit out of other equally skilled fighters. Every sloppy attack, and weak point in a form had to be examined and shored up. Losses could expose the worst mistakes. At first it had taken time to correct. Over time she'd learned to identify what had gone wrong and adapt in the midst of battle.

As for her childhood… She'd spent that fighting too. While most children fought against peer pressure and local bullies she'd stepped it up a notch. It was true most of the villains she'd foiled were scientists. They focused mostly on strange inventions and stranger plans. Most of them couldn't hold a candle to her physically. Instead they hired large amounts of muscular men who were trained to fight together as a squad. She'd developed techniques for fighting multiple opponents, stay alert, stay flexible. Don't over focus. Make a strike and move on. Try and conserve energy and movement and only commit to an attack when you can make it count.

As it turned out the techniques were much like riding a bicycle. You never quite forgot. At the apex of her leap she'd already chosen her next target. He was standing next to a wooden crate that came up to about waist height. Behind it was a fruit stall.

She landed behind him in a crouch. From there she dropped forward, using her hands and a knee as a pivot point to drive her other leg into a sweep. The thickly muscled thug's feet fell out from under him, propelling him slightly forward and mostly down. His chin collided heavily with the wooden crate and fell limp. Not wasting any more time on him Red sprang forward into the gap between two more goons who were trying to rush to the aid of their friend.

They hadn't expected to meet the woman head on, and each tried to hastily prepare a haymaker to catch the redhead clear in the skull. They each used the fist closest to her skull. It was child's play to avoid the two punches. Neither man was set right and the speed and power of the blows came solely from their arms. It wasn't much more effort to reach up with both her hands and grab the passing wrists. She pulled down as she stepped forward, wrenching both of the arms. Had the assailants been prepared, and attempting to root themselves to the spot, there would have been little she could have done from her positon. As it was however, their weight was poorly distributed and the hurried blows had given their bodies momentum. This was compounded by the momentum of Red's attack, and the two men flipped over, striking their heads heavily onto the street.

Not slowing down, Red leapt over the next man to come at her, taking note of the knife he was wielding when he did so. She landed behind him and latched her arms around his neck. The knife clattered to the street, kicking up a cloud of dust as he struggled to pry her arms away.

Choking him out was taking time she didn't have. Already another man was rushing at her from behind. She could hear his thick soled boots stomping the ground. His voice was raised in a wordless roar of anger and machismo. Pushing hard against the ground Red pushed herself into the air, without releasing her hold. Instead he put greater pressure on the man, using him to support her weight. She coiled her legs up and kicked them out as the rushing goon came closer. The kick caught him square in the chest and sent him stumbling backwards gasping for air. His comical large gaped path ended when he collided with another goon who rushed out of an alleyway to help.

As the two went down another cloud of dust rose up from the street. Letting her feet once again rest on the street, Red remained alert as the feeble pawing of the man under her began to crawl to a halt. Soon his eyes rolled back n his head and she could feel his body slacken. Letting the unconscious man fall in a heap, Red transitioned into a double backwards hand spring, which brought her heels down into the chest of the man she'd sent sprawling. From her perch on top of him she delivered a strong blow to his chin. The combined attack was too much for him, and he too passed out. Getting up he hauled the idiot under him up, and with as much momentum as she could generate twisting around hurled him into the nearest stand. It was a shoddy thing constructed of weak timbers of wood. The merchant running it had run away before Red had resumed paying attention to the street. The thug went crashing through it, generating a large amount of noise and the complete collapse of the stall.

Ready to face the next challenger she looked around. There was no one left. The remaining thugs had run off, too scared to fight her and using the desire to alert their superiors as a rationalization.

All that was left of the gang were the thugs she'd beaten senseless and their still screaming leader. He was tougher than the rest of them she'd give him that. As she walked over to him she decided to see just how tough.

She knelt down next to him, resting her arms onto her upper thighs. She looked into his eyes and placed a finger over his mouth as he kept hurling obscenities.

"Now, those aren't nice words and if you're not careful you might offend me." She trailed the finger down his body until she reached the fingers of the broken hand nearest her. She gently hooked her pointer around his middle finger and pulled the broken digit back.

"You wouldn't like me when I'm offended," she said, still smiling serenely. She kept the finger held back as she slowly counted to five. And the lifted the pressure, and returned the digit to its normal position, but did not remove her finger.

"Now I am going to ask you a question, and you're going to lie to me or maybe just tell me off. And I won't like that so I'm going to have to hold your finger up," she repeated the motion, "for ten whole seconds this time." She watched the beads of sweat run down his face and his pupils dilate as he screamed louder and louder with each number she counted out. When she reached ten she once again returned the finger to its resting place.

"Now that wasn't very nice was it. And the next time it'll be twenty seconds. The time after that forty seconds. And each and every time I'll double it. Until you not only tell me what I want to know but you convince me that you're telling me the truth. And right now you're thinking a naughty word and that I'm crazy. And you're thinking I won't get away with it. And you're thinking that at any moment someone will help you. But I have a secret for you,"

She leaned over, bringing her lips tantalizing close to his and increasing the pressure on his finger just enough to prevent him from trying to take advantage of her closeness.

"No one is going to help you. Not the worthless pieces of excrement you call friends, they've run away leaving you to me. Not your bosses. You're a small fry and an useless one at that. Not even the cops or good natured townspeople, because you're a piece of scum who prays on defenseless kids. So it's just you and me on this street, and I'd love an excuse to justify causing you as much pain as possible for the rest of the day. But I'm a good person. So I'll give you a chance to spare yourself," she pulled the finger back, and held it, counting out to twenty, "forty more seconds of this. So you're going to tell me, what you wanted the kids for, who calls the shots, and where I can find him. And believe me, nothing he can do to you is worse than the living hell you're going to endure at my hands, if you even hesitate to share or protest about how awful he is. "

And as he looked into Red's face he didn't see a bluff, didn't see someone who would back down. He no longer saw a piece of meat ready for his not so tender affection. Instead he saw a monster. A creature that had snapped his bones as easily as he'd planned to force himself upon her. She'd shown no remorse or mercy. She hadn't flinched when she'd tortured him.

In his life Samuel had made his fair share of bad decisions and morally wrong choices. The paths and alleyways he'd chosen to lead his life along didn't allow for mercy or kindness. If those were traits you admired you found other lines of work. Samuel hadn't. He enjoyed the power, the rush of being the big man. He liked the money and the perks of his profession. Why should he care about these little rats or if they weren't interested in his affections. He was bigger, stronger, and could take what he wanted.

But there had always been lurking in those alleys the predators that even he wouldn't touch. Some of them were barely eighty pounds, mostly sacks of skin. But you could feel it in the way they moved, acted, spoke and laughed. Especially in what they laughed about. They were the psychos. The ones who'd slowly murder someone while forcing themselves upon them. They were the ones who came up with ridiculous tests of loyalty just so you'd fail and they could make an example of you. When he'd run into one of those he kept his head down and follow orders. He didn't want one of them taking an interest in him. The current enforcer in charge of the project was one of them.

But right there, in that moment, he knew he'd never been, and would never be as terrified of anyone as he would the redhead who quietly and without remorse or joy, laid out the truth. She would do worse to him than force the pain of a broken bone on him. She'd be methodical, precise, and she wouldn't stop when the joy ran out or she got bored. Because she didn't care about his pain. She wanted something, and he pitied the idiot who had it.

He told her everything. Even the things she hadn't asked to know. When he was finished, she asked a few clarifying questions, which he'd answered, and then she'd left him there, conscious and in pain on the street taking the small children he'd come to collect with her.

And under the hot sun, he knew that for once he'd done the right thing.


End file.
